Hajime and Tokio
by Angrybee
Summary: The story of the life, and love, which grew between an unlikely couple. Follows Saitou and Tokio from the Genji era through and past the Rurouni Kenshin tale. Rated for: Violence, Language, Adult Themes. (COMPLETE except for epilogue.)
1. Chapter 1: An Agreeable Arrangement

(Edited Feb 16, 2004.)  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story contains adult themes and some offensive language. I would not recommend it to persons under the age of 16.  
  
Many of the characters contained herein are the sole property of Nobuhiro Watsuki. My deepest thanks to Watsuki-san for creating such a wonderful story in Rurouni Kenshin. Flattery, and not ownership, is all that is implied in the making of this story.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 1 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
June 1864, First Year of Genji. Saitoh Hajime is age 21. Okita Souji is age 19. The Meiji Era will not start for another 4 years.  
  
---  
  
Hajime stood in the Shinsengumi training complex. Another month had passed, and another handful of pathetic recruits had shown up, hoping to pass the rigorous exam required to enter the ranks of the Shinsengumi. Of the three dozen which now stood sparring, only maybe a third would make it to the final phase of the test. And, of those, less than a half dozen would be accepted into the elite force which policed Kyoto.   
  
"Did you lose anyone this month, Okita?" Hajime asked his fellow captain. Dividing the new recruits among the captains always weighed heavily on their minds. Each captain wanted men that would fit best with their troop, but felt it necessary to allow those captains who had lost men during the previous month to have first choice.  
  
"No. Kanryuusai did, though. But, he isn't here, so he opts out by default."  
  
Saitou's frown became even deeper. He never liked Kanryuusai. Even though it was the man's own fault that he hadn't shown up to the tests, the other captains would certainly hear his complaints about not having first choice of the new recruits later.  
  
Clouds of dust seemed to travel randomly in the training yard, spilling over onto the covered porch where the Shinsengumi captains kept their watch over the recruits. Okita wore a dark handkerchief over his lower face, protecting his weakened lungs from the invasive dirt clouds. But, other than this, the captains all wore the light blue uniforms of the Shinsengumi, immaculately cleansed of any blood or gore that had been incurred in the previous days.   
  
This was one of their many pacts. The captains would -always- appear in public as well dressed and impeccably clean as possible. This would help to establish their authority, set them apart from dirty mongrels such as the Ishin Shishi, who often hid themselves in peasant clothing. No. The Shinsengumi would take pride in themselves and their defense of the Shogunate.   
  
The captain of the 2nd troop, Nagakura Shinpachi, exited the back door of Shinsengumi headquarters to find his compatriots all staring silently at the amateurish sparring. He leaned against the wall near Saitou and Okita, one foot up against a post.  
  
"Kanryuusai's gone to the district," Nagakura explained.  
  
"Ah," was Okita's only reply. The district. They didn't even feel the need to explain -which- district. Among the captains, it was known, THE district meant Shimabara, the part of Kyoto where one could find a cheap whore of either sex, and experience pleasures which would make even the most worldly of samurai loosen the grip on his sword.  
  
"Apparently in advance of a great number of our men. With these new recruits being ready to show their sempais how agreeable they can be...and with it being unlikely they will get the same chance for a few months, I have a feeling that our barracks will be all but empty tonight."  
  
Okita rolled his eyes while Saitou snarled. 'We're in agreement on that one, Okita,' Hajime thought to himself.   
  
Saitou understood why this annoyed Okita. Although Saitou was only two years older than Okita, the younger man didn't look a day over 15. Okita tried his hardest to remain a leader to his men, an aweworthy pinnacle of strength, unwaveringly loyal to the cause, the perfect and quick blade and heart which led the First Troop of the Shinsengumi.  
  
And, in many ways, he was. His men all but worshipped him, and even Saitou had to admit that he had no idea who would win in a true battle between Okita and himself, even with Okita fighting off his illness.  
  
But Okita's one weakness lay in the less respectful areas of public. Although he was truly a man, as much of a man as any of the captains, his youthful demeanor caused no end of trouble if he went to Shimabara. And Okita felt it better to deny himself a few things than to have his men watch him be turned away or ridiculed by geishas, or have to prove himself to every vendor of sake.  
  
"Are you going, Nagakura?" Okita asked, his ever-present smile returning to his face.  
  
"I've thought on it. I might go for a while, if only to keep an eye on some of the rowdier men. And you two?"  
  
Okita shook his head for only a moment before standing and bounding across the training yard to break up a sparring match that had become a bit too bloody.   
  
"And you, Captain Saitou?"  
  
"I have better things to do, Nagakura, you know that."  
  
"You don't have to stay behind just for Okita. He'll understand."  
  
Saitou pressed his lips together. Nagakura meant well, he knew. It wasn't as if Saitou hadn't been to the district before. He'd encouraged the camaraderie of his troop through an occasional night of celebration. It did wonders for their morale. He'd had his time with the painted women of the district and had little inclination to return more than necessary.   
  
Women were, in his mind, completely unnecessary to the task at hand. His energies were better spent focusing on the Shinsengumi's goal of Aku Soku Zan. Frivolity and play in a time when the whole of Japan teetered on the brink if destruction? Such a waste.  
  
"No. And if you see any of my men, tell them their captain gives them permission for the evening, but they had best return by noon tomorrow and be in capable shape to train."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Aren't you married, Nagakura?"  
  
The other captain chuckled lowly and nodded. "Yeah. You should try it sometime, Saitou. You think women will dull the flame which fuels your fight. But, a good woman, a good woman will rekindle that flame when it is in danger of burning itself out."  
  
Saitou snorted derisively, and looked away from his compatriot. "I highly doubt that."  
  
"Captain Saitou!" Okita called, indicating a brute of a man holding a mace, "I think we have a possibility in this man. Will you perform the final test?"  
  
Saitou nodded and pushed himself away from the wall, his fingers already resting on the hilt of his katana.   
  
"Hai."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 3, 7 years later.  
  
Saitou is 28. Currently, he works as a spy for a band of samurai attempting to restore the shogunate. He has been assigned to Nagasaki and works undercover as a bodyguard for a high ranking city official by the name of Hachiko Ginrou. Saitou is currently using the name "Fujita Goro".  
  
---  
  
The lone wolf stood alone by the carriage, waiting for his charge to exit the opulent mansion. 'Likely built with money taken from the shogunate,' Saitou mused. Hopefully, in a few months, he would finish gathering the information his group needed on Hachiko and his associates, information they would then use to discredit the government.  
  
'What is taking so long? Impudent lazy politicians. Making everyone wait in this winter cold.' Saitou slid his hand into his chest pocket and returned with a pack of cigarettes. Okita would have his head if he knew his friend had taken up such a habit.   
  
Ah. But, Okita had died two years ago in a hospital in Edo. Saitou had been with his friend. Neither one had expected to live through the war, especially not live and be on the losing side. In those last moments, even in those last moments, Okita had the strength of many men. He had pulled his friend down by the collar, and rasped his last few words in Saitou's ear.  
  
"Do not let this weaken your resolve, Saitou-san. Our time isn't over. I pass my strength to you. The wolves of Mibu must, to the last man, fight with the fury of Aku Soku Zan."  
  
"Yes, Okita. I promise on the honor of the Shinsengumi."  
  
They understood, between them, what would happen next. Saitou handed his wakizashi to Okita, who without hesitation committed an honorable seppuku, choosing his own time of death rather than be defeated by his disease.  
  
Saitou did not cry for his friend. He merely sat, for several seconds, holding the shoulders of the smaller man who bled to death. After this, Saitou knew, Okita would no longer be in pain.   
  
Okita would have loved a winter like this, a winter that threatened snow at every moment. He had once told Saitou, "Blood, blood upon the snow, it makes me realize that everything considered pure can be sullied so quickly. It reminds me that not a single drop of doubt or shame or dishonor must ever touch our minds, Saitou. Because it can blossom like a sickness. When I watch the blood upon the snow, I know that our cause is just and right. And I know that all which may seem incongruous, all these different ideologies various groups hold, they will become sullied and tattered without the strong virtue and conviction of men like us."  
  
Okita had a way of speaking about things that always astonished his less-vociferous and more practical compatriot.   
  
As the snow began to fall in the drive of the showy mansion, Saitou lit his cigarette. He decided he really should buy some gloves this winter. It would be no good for him if his fingers froze and he were unable to use his sword.   
  
Finally, Saitou's charge arrived. The portly man had problems getting into his own carriage, and Saitou had to snicker. It was too bad he was only assigned to spy on Hachiko. Killing the corrupt official would have been so much more amusing.  
  
Saitou rode on the back of the carriage, keeping an eye out for attackers. Unfortunately, he did -actually- have to protect this man, if they wanted to finish getting information on him. Hachiko would tie his own noose and the nooses of everyone associated with him. And anyone who interfered in that process would have to deal with Saitou.  
  
The snow came faster now, thickening like a curtain. The ex-Shinsengumi captain had to rely on other senses than his sight. And rely he did, smelling the acrid metallic scent of blood seconds before the carriage was attacked by bandits just as they passed into a more questionable part of the city. A shower of blood mixed with the snow as Saitou's blade cut through opponent after opponent. The lot of them were inexperienced young men, youths that had been disenfranchised by the wars, but still too young, at the time, to fight in those wars.  
  
Saitou called out to the driver to rush Hachiko to safety, warning him not to stop even once.   
  
They probably wanted money, Saitou figured. A terrible corruption of the soul, that, to fight for the mere reason of wanting to become rich. The concept annoyed Saitou even more, and he quickened his blade slightly. No danger here, really. Even if all half-dozen men currently standing rushed him at once, he had no doubt he could easily defeat them.  
  
After he dispatched most of the bandits, he found himself chasing the last one through the streets and alleyways of the city. This, in itself, would not usually have required much effort, but once again the snow storm required Saitou to use more than his eyesight to continue the chase. Finally cornering his young quarry in a back alley, Saitou advanced slowly, wanting to get in range without slipping on the quickly-forming ice.  
  
They ran at each other, and swords clashed. Saitou found that his newest opponent had a moderate level of skill, perhaps even enough to pass the tests once required to become a Shinsengumi member. As they stood apart once more, regarding each other and momentarily catching their breath, Saitou addressed the bandit.  
  
"You fought in the war."  
  
"So did you. I know you. You're a Shinsengumi Captain. I'm betting that information will bring quite a price somewhere."  
  
So, that was why the man had fled. "Do not presume you will be leaving this alley alive."  
  
Saitou attacked again, this time with his Gatotsu. The man was skewered instantly, but the force of the blow caused both men to lose their footing on the ice and fall backwards into a pile of refuse. It took a moment for Saitou to regain his senses, but when he did, he was met with a surprising sight.  
  
The man had three arms.  
  
No. That wasn't right. He hadn't had any extra limbs during the fight. Saitou quickly withdrew the blade. A small sound from beneath the bandit reached Saitou's ears despite the rush of adrenaline-fueled blood which pounded in his head. A whispered gasp.  
  
Saitou leaned into the pile of trash, lifting his rapidly dying opponent and letting the man fall to the snow-covered ground. Then he saw her.  
  
The girl lay in the trash with her eyes closed, one hand covering her face, the other traveling quickly towards the source of the blood rapidly-spreading across her tattered yukata. He had, by accident of course, punctured the young woman with the end of his long katana right below her stomach.  
  
"Do not touch the wound." Saitou commanded.  
  
The girl made no response, but drew her hand away from the injury. He could hear her breathing heavily in pain, and doubted she would remain conscious much longer.  
  
He had never injured a woman before. Sure, some of the other Shinsengumi used to torture or even kill women and children to get information from their prey, but he and Okita had decided that this route only sullied the purity of their missions. They had a personal and unspoken pact to keep women and children out of the affairs of men.  
  
The girl's eyes fluttered for a second between the fingers she held over her face, going unfocused as the falling snow began to cling to her black hair. Saitou hesitated. He really should kill her. She probably wouldn't survive the injury anyway, plus she might have heard what the bandit had said about him being a Shinsengumi captain. Anyway, who would miss a girl sleeping in a trash heap?  
  
But, he couldn't. He couldn't break his promise to Okita, and he couldn't take a life outside of their motto of Aku Soku Zan.  
  
With his sword, Saitou easily cut a strip from his hakama, scooped some snow, and packed it on the wound. He lifted the girl slightly, and used his belt to tie the ice pack onto her stomach. That would have to do until they could get someone to look at the injury. He easily picked the young woman out of the trash, she couldn't have been far into her teenage years, maybe 14 or 15, and headed back down the alleyway towards a town doctor.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The ex-Shinsengumi captain leaned against the wall of the front room of the doctor's office, curls of smoke trailing upwards to mingle with his thoughts.  
  
"You shouldn't smoke in here, sir." One of the nurses had said. He'd only glared at her and demanded a report on the girl he had brought in earlier.  
  
Finally, after hours of waiting, the doctor appeared, his smock spattered with a delicate pattern of blood. The old man nodded to Saitou and began.  
  
"Your sister will be alright, sir. She will live, but she will have another scar and...I doubt she'll be able to safely bear children. You may go in and see her if you wish. She's awake now, but...will need to rest soon."  
  
Saitou nodded absently, not bothering to correct the doctor about his relationship to the patient. He had to find out what she had heard.  
  
The darkness of the room suited Saitou fine. The young woman lay on the futon, a thin cover pulled up to her chin. As his amber eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw her face for the first time. A simple beauty, still possessing some of the features of childhood, unpainted. She had skin that put milk to shame with its creaminess, and blushing lips that parted slightly as she sensed the presence of her attacker.   
  
But the most astonishing thing, which he had not noticed previously, were that her eyes were the exact same color as his own, golden-hued honey brown, a fragile amber that darkened only slightly in the low light of the room.  
  
Without moving her head, she turned her eyes to watch Saitou as he smoked, standing against the wall. They regarded each other in silence for what seemed forever, until Saitou realized small tears had formed in the corners of her eyes and were rolling down her cheeks into her hair.  
  
"Why do you cry? Are you afraid of me?"  
  
"No. I...." Even Saitou had to strain to catch her voice. She barely spoke above a breathy whisper. "The doctor said I shall not be able to have children."  
  
"You do not look old enough to worry about such things."  
  
"I must," she replied, still whispering, "I must find a husband before I turn sixteen or my auntie..." The girl brought a hand to her face and pushed away her own tears. "...I'll have no place to go. Now I won't find one. Not even the lowliest peasant would want a girl who can't..."  
  
Saitou looked away from her face and stared out the window. It was the night of the new moon, and only the stars shed their light on Nagasaki.   
  
"Your name?"  
  
"Tanagi Tokio."  
  
"And your aunt's name?"  
  
"Tanagi Junpei."  
  
Saitou turned back towards the girl and stepped forward. The light caught his angular features, making Tokio's eyes open slightly wider in surprise. Strangely, however, he sensed she was truthful. She did not fear him. He bent down on one knee, glaring at her, watching her reactions.  
  
"I know you could have killed me. You probably should have killed me. If you must do so now, I shall understand. But I pray of you, put all your power into the action so I may go quickly. I am tired of the suffering of this life and would not wish to linger." Her whispered voice never faltered, never hesitated. And her words, so eloquent, they reminded him of another hospital visit, they reminded him of Okita.  
  
A plan was beginning to form in Saitou's mind. A rather interesting plan, considering he'd hardly ever even spoken to women before.  
  
"I must ask you to suffer for one more day, Tanagi-san. In the mean time, I ask you not to speak to anyone concerning me."  
  
Tokio thought about this for a few moments before replying, "I shall do as you ask, sir. Your kindness in bringing me here deserves at least that."  
  
The Mibu wolf only lowered his head slightly in response, disappearing into the shadows of the room as the young Tokio fell asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He learned much about Tokio the next day from her aunt, a woman he found thoroughly disgusting. Tanagi Junpei wore entirely too much makeup, and enough perfume to wipe the smell of blood from a battlefield. Both of them smoking profusely through the entire visit (another habit he found especially detestable in women), he was able to extract information from Tokio's aunt without much problem after revealing how he would be paying the girl's hospital bill.   
  
He told Junpei that he had merely been a witness to the attack on Tokio, and took pity on the girl. It didn't take much to be convincing in the face of the overwhelming idiocy the woman possessed.  
  
According to Junpei, Tokio had been the daughter of a well-known samurai from Aizu who had supported the shogunate during the Bakumatsu. Her parents had been slaughtered six years previous by the infamous Hitokiri Battousai of Kyoto, where they had lived. After the attack, the house was swarmed with Ishin Shishi, who were ransacking the rooms looking for information before burning the place. Tokio had run from her hiding spot underneath the house in order to escape the fighting and fire, and had fallen in the brambles of the forest, a sharp stick cutting her throat and injuring her voice.   
  
Everyone was amazed that Tokio survived the injury. The child had been sent to live with Junpei and her husband, who had been Tokio's father's brother. However, Junpei's husband, too, died in the wars. Now, she claimed, she sewed futons for a living to try to support Tokio and her own children. (The last claim Saitou highly doubted. Women who sewed futons had little need for or access to bottles of perfume.)  
  
At 16, the girl would be considered a woman, and with things as they were, Junpei would have no choice but to turn the girl out to make her own way in the world.   
  
Saitou thanked the woman, his voice dripping with as much disdain as possible, and headed back to the hospital.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou sat against the wall in Tokio's hospital room crosslegged. His "boss" Hachiko had given him a bonus for being so incredibly efficient in dispatching the "enemy", which amused Saitou to absolutely no end. 'The fool. He has no idea who his enemy is.'  
  
Tokio stirred slightly in her sleeping, her lips parting and closing as if she were speaking, but no sound ever came. She seemed to wince in her sleep for a moment and then went back to breathing normally.  
  
'Just what in the hell am I doing here?' Saitou asked himself. 'You already know,' he replied internally, and recounted the reasons that his plan would be perfect.  
  
Tokio woke up seconds later, opening her eyes and peering at the man in her room unabashedly. Certainly, she had a quietness about her, but her eyes revealed an honesty of intention and mind that Saitou knew would come in very handy.  
  
"Tokio. I have a proposal for you." Well. There, he said it, and that is what it would be. A business arrangement, nothing more.   
  
The young woman nodded for him to continue.  
  
"I am sure, by now, you have some guesses as to my origins and my true line of work?"  
  
Again, another nod.  
  
"Then you must realize that I am not currently who I purport to be. I am known in town as Fujita Goro, but my real name is Saitou Hajime. My work is dangerous, but I think you could be extremely useful in assisting me."  
  
Useful. In the same way Okita had been useful to the Shinsengumi, presenting a charming face and winning personality that would set his foes off guard.   
  
"Assisting you?" came the whispered question.  
  
"If you would consent, I would marry you. Nothing would be required of you in the normal sense of the concept. I would not require you to perform the understood duties of a wife. Instead, you would assist me not only in keeping my cover, but I would also teach you how to gather information, especially from the wives and daughters of my so-called clients. I know you have the education afforded to a samurai's daughter, and this would come in extremely handy in my line of work."  
  
Tokio remained silent for some time, her amber eyes staring up at the ceiling.   
  
"You kill people."  
  
"As I have been trained, yes."  
  
"You did not kill me, however."   
  
"There will be some danger to your life if you accept, but, I believe, no more or less than a girl your age living on the streets."  
  
Tokio turned her head to look at the man addressing her. Almost twice her age. His face seemed tense, not from the current proposition, but from years and years of intense concentration.   
  
"You will not be ashamed of our difference in age?" She whispered.  
  
"It doesn't particularly concern me."  
  
"Or this?" Tokio pulled the cover down from her chin, exposing the thick scar which marred her neck. The scar seemed much bigger than Saitou imagined. No wonder they were surprised she survived.  
  
"That does not concern me either," Saitou added.  
  
"Then I accept."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They were married in the spring, a few weeks after Tokio healed, on the day she turned sixteen. The ceremony took place in the morning, at a small temple on the outskirts of the city which Saitou favored due to its peaceful air and simplicity of structure. He wore a simple black gi and white hakama, and Tokio wore a white kimono with black collar and red shoots of bamboo painted on the bottom hem and left shoulder, along with a black obi. They had purchased the clothes earlier in the day when Saitou had noted that Tokio always wore the same yukata, and deduced her aunt had not seen fit to allow the young woman proper clothing.  
  
As they walked back to Saitou's quarters, the Miburo regarded his young wife out of the corner of his eye when he was sure she wasn't looking. She had a decent height for her age, but still didn't even come up to his shoulder. Youth still permeated her body, but she had attained enough maturity to give her the svelte grace of a jaguar. And, though a certain quietness and humility emanated from Tokio, those who were perceptive enough could catch the keen intelligence in her eyes.   
  
"What should I call you?" Tokio whispered as she inspected the inside lining of the sleeve of her kimono.  
  
The question hadn't really crossed Saitou's mind, but it was indeed important. "Teishu, I suppose. Or Goro. It may seem overly informal to you now, but to do otherwise would arouse suspicion. Even in our own quarters, you never know when we are being spied upon. After this mission is finished, you may call me whatever suits you until the next mission."  
  
"Shall we be traveling away from Nagasaki?"  
  
"It is possible. Always be ready for the possibility. Would it trouble you?"  
  
"No." Tokio put her hands back down at her side and looked ahead as they approached the Hachiko estate. His bride had arrived alone earlier in the day, and had already put her small bag of things in the front room. Her Aunt Junpei had not accompanied her.  
  
Any other man, on his wedding day, would scoop up his bride and head straight to the bedroom. But, Saitou merely stepped aside and ushered Tokio into the small unit. It consisted of only three rooms, a kitchen, a living space, and a bedroom. The bath houses for both the women and men of the household were in a courtyard beyond the servants quarters where the pair now lived.  
  
"Would you like tea, teishu?" Tokio whispered, removing a few pins from her hair, and allowing ribbons of darkness to cascade down her shoulders.  
  
"Aa. That would be agreeable."  
  
The young woman disappeared into the kitchen and returned minutes later holding a tea tray. The pair sat at the low table, Tokio pouring the tea, regarding the room in comfortable silence.  
  
"Tokio, you should probably know, people see me as a sinister and callous man. I curse. I smoke. Because of my work, I tend to get in fights. I am by no means gentle in word or deed to any creature."  
  
Tokio, for once, smiled. Her smile seemed small, only a gentle upturning of the lips at the corners. For a moment, Saitou had to wonder if she was mocking him.  
  
"This does not concern me," came the whispered reply.  
  
Clever woman, throwing his own words back at him. The Miburo's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, but the expression left his face almost instantly. "That being said, I've bought you something."   
  
Any other woman would light up at the prospect of a gift. Young Tokio, however, only tilted her head slightly and now raised her own eyebrows. Saitou produced the package from underneath the table and slid it to his new wife as if he were sliding a confidential file to an co-conspirator.  
  
He sipped his tea, not watching her open the package. At least it would be impossible for her to yell at him if she were offended.  
  
Tokio pulled out the three silk scarves of varying lengths and inspected them carefully. She tied the shortest one around her neck, covering her scar, and nodded to her approval to her new husband.   
  
The quietest voice in all of Japan said, "Thank you, teishu."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They slept that first night in the same room, as it would seem strange if any of the guards under Saitou's control came during the night to find the new bride sleeping in the living room. However, their futons had been set a respectable foot and a half apart.  
  
Tokio changed behind the screen that Saitou had bought to afford them both some privacy. She returned in her yukata, the rest of her hair finally unbound. His wife looked even younger with her hair falling on her shoulders. Barely even a woman. For a moment Saitou wondered if Okita would approve of this plan, of bringing such an innocent into the affairs of men. But she was here now. And there wasn't much else waiting for a woman her age alone on the streets. 'It was complicated, Okita. I still have no doubts about my fight, but the situation was complicated.'  
  
Saitou watched her slip into bed as he continued to work on some paperwork at the small desk in the corner, his angular features set in sharp relief by the lantern.   
  
"Tokio?"  
  
"Eh?" Tokio turned over on her side to look at her partner.  
  
"Do you know how to fight?"  
  
"With a weapon? No. My father always said I had no center of gravity. Strangely, it affords me good balance and the ability to dodge. but weapons and punches always set me off kilter, leaving no strength behind the blow. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Just wondering how much help I should expect from you, should we be attacked," Saitou replied dryly, turning a page. "You may sleep now, if you wish."  
  
"Ah. Goodnight, then, teishu."  
  
Saitou worked late into the night, pouring over copies of documents he had purloined temporarily from Hachiko's private library. Nearing three in the morning, having almost forgotten the other presence in the room, he turned and decided to sleep. This was another of Saitou's great secrets of success. He only needed about three hours of sleep a night to be fully rested, and if he needed, he could go for days without needing to sleep. The extra time in his day allowed him to plan and research meticulously.  
  
"The more focused a man is on his goal, the less time he needs in sleep to put his mind together," he had told his men when they had expressed concern at his unwillingness to sleep.  
  
He stacked the papers into a meticulous pile, clipped them together, and placed them in the hiding place where he had been keeping them. Now there was nothing to do but put on his night clothes and lay down to sleep.  
  
But, instead, he sat watching Tokio's slumber. An interesting enterprise, as it appeared his wife talked constantly, though soundlessly, in her sleep, moving her lips and making small facial expressions as if deep in conversation, but never uttering a sound.  
  
He was amazed at how little her presence annoyed him. He'd always been the lone wolf. Even in the Shinsengumi he mostly set himself apart from his men and even from many of his fellow captains. Other people were either tools to be used to achieve his goals or, in very rare instances, equals to be respected, if not feared, for their proficiency and purity. He could almost count the latter on one hand, Okita and the Hitokiri Battousai being at the top of the list.  
  
But Tokio, she seemed to be something different all together. She had a sort of purity, sure, but she had consented willingly to be used as a tool.   
  
It didn't make any sense.  
  
He had to know more about her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou had almost protested when Hachiko had given him the week off to be with his new bride. He'd stopped himself in time, however. Of course, a newly married man should want time with his new wife. To protest would be overly suspicious, even though Saitou desperately wanted to continue his mission. Oh well, maybe the old fat fuck would get himself killed...or at least injured...while Saitou was away.  
  
Besides, it would give him time to begin to train Tokio on what he would want her to do.   
  
He found her sleeping in the main room, leaning against a wall, some sewing in her lap. As usual, she chattered soundlessly in her sleep.   
  
"Tokio. Wake up. We're going out."  
  
Honey colored eyes opened. A soundless nod was the only reply as Tokio put her sewing aside and readied herself to leave.  
  
They walked through the streets of Nagasaki without conversation, heading towards the marketplace. Spring had not yet turned loose its full warmth on the world, and the chill which hung in the air seemed to match the personalities of the two newlyweds with a deadly precision.   
  
Saitou headed through a park. Even in the crisp morning, already people had begun to cluster into the springtime grove. A small group practiced kata with bokkens in a clearing, while children flew kites. Still other people seemed to be fishing or merely taking morning strolls.   
  
Saitou indicated a shaded bench with a mere glance and the two sat. They watched the movement in the park for some time in silence, the Miboru occasionally glancing at the young woman beside him out of the corner of his eye. She wore a mask of feminine humility and mannered obedience, her head bowed slightly her hands folded delicately in her lap. But, beyond the mask, her eyes belied a strange detached hollowness. It was as if the witnessed the world, but not from inside her body.   
  
Although he did not have quite the same strength in sensing ki as the Hitokiri Battousai, Saitou did have some natural talent in the area, and had noticed that Tokio's ki never seemed to center itself around her body. It was as if her spirit was trying to break free of its confines, something he had only seen before in people who were dying...or who wanted desperately to die.  
  
"Tokio, tell me who in this park is dangerous. Who should not be here?"  
  
The young woman's eyes moved carefully, inspecting everyone and everything. Saitou wordlessly pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, letting the wisps of smoke provide a tenuous veil for his own countenance.  
  
Tokio scanned the area, letting her gaze fall first on the group practicing kata. She watched them for a few moments, but then moved on. The children flying kites seemed harmless in her eyes as well, as did the few solitary figures fishing. And then she caught sight of her target.  
  
"The woman, there..." Tokio whispered, indicating a young woman walking alone through the park, "...she is dangerous."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because she is alone, yet she walks with confidence, her head high. Every other woman in this park is escorted, or at least with a large enough group of other women."  
  
"Aa. I agree. Anyone else?" Saitou asked as he ashed his cigarette off to the side.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Saitou narrowed his own eyes. He hadn't actually detected any other dangers in the park, and now wondered who the young woman beside him would pick out.  
  
"You are also dangerous, teishu." Tokio whispered, turning her head to look at a child running after its mother.  
  
Saitou could think of nothing to say in response. It was, indeed, an astute observation. He stubbed his cigarette out on the bench and stood. Tokio followed suit.  
  
"I've arranged for you to help out in the kitchen in the Hachiko estate in the mornings. Do you cook?"  
  
"Mostly only desserts. A kind woman who lived next door to Aunt Junpei taught me. She worked in a sweet shop. I found it a useful skill when I needed to placate or bribe my aunt," Tokio replied as she walked a step behind her husband.  
  
"That should do. I've told them that you are mostly mute and that it pains you to speak, so they probably won't ask you too many questions. Listen closely to the women there. Find out what you can about Hachiko and his associates."  
  
"I shall. Anything else you wish me to do, teishu?"  
  
"Yes." Saitou turned off a path in the park and headed towards an isolated clearing. "You said you could dodge a punch. I want to see it."  
  
If anyone had watched the exchange which took place next, they would have been alarmed at the husband and wife pair that squared off in the clearing. The tall, lean man that looked like a wolf glared at the slender young woman with a bowed head.  
  
He decided to punch lightly, but quickly, just hard enough so that he could knock his wife off-balance. Saitou didn't particularly want to injure Tokio, not again anyway, but he had to know exactly how she would behave if they were ever attacked. He studied her for a few seconds, sizing up how frightened she might be of the situation. But, once again, her ki seemed detached and and hollow.   
  
As his fist flew through the air towards her right shoulder, something odd happened. He had expected Tokio to move to the side to avoid the punch, but instead her shoulder seemed to almost melt from his view, moving downwards and then forwards. He decided to immediately try for the other shoulder to take her by surprise. It moved downwards and then backwards, again in a motion that seemed so fluid it annoyed him.   
  
Saitou attempted a dirty maneuver at that point. His wife's torso seemed twisted, so he figured that if he tried to sweep her legs, she'd be caught unaware and fall. To his amazement, he found that when he did so, she grabbed a wad of his gi and used it as leverage. Her legs did fly out from under her, but with her grasp on his clothing, instead of falling, she spun around his side, landing behind him.   
  
He came around with his fist, harder now, intending to punch her in the side. This time she executed a flip from the shoulder, barely over his hand.  
  
Every time he punched, she seemed to move in an impossible direction, as if her body had no bones or weight at all. She seemed to be able to flip herself from any point, pivoting gracefully like a dancer. Several times she caught hold of his wrists while he punched, and used his own speed and force to push herself out of the way.   
  
Finally, Saitou decided to punch at her face, a right-hook that should have caught her jaw. He expected she would tilt her head to the side to dodge, but instead her torso bent and twisted to the side, causing her face to be aligned with his forearm.  
  
And at that point, she bit him through the sleeve of his gi. Hard.  
  
"Kuso," Saitou muttered, pulling his arm away. "That's my sword arm, Tokio. I didn't tell you to bite me."  
  
The young woman stood back up as her husband continued to mutter profanities.   
  
"I...I am sorry, teishu. I didn't think you were going to stop...and...I didn't know what else to do," the girl whispered, biting her lower lip slightly, "Every punch was getting closer and...I didn't know if I could dodge the next one."  
  
He hadn't really exerted himself to his full strength, but she still had done far better than he expected. Saitou pulled up the sleeve of his gi to inspect the damage. She had drawn no blood, but he suspected there would be a pretty interesting bruise the next day.  
  
"Yare yare, where'd you learn all that Tokio?"  
  
"My mother. I guess...I guess she worried about us being attacked, my father being so involved with the politics of Aizu and all."  
  
He had seen that style of dodging before, but where? He couldn't exactly place it. "You realize that it would have been fairly pointless if your attacker had a sword."  
  
"Yes," Tokio replied, a hint of sadness lingering in her whisper. "Are you...are you going to be alright?"  
  
To this, Saitou actually had to suppress a grin. In all his years as a swordsman, no one had ever asked him that question. The cause of his wounds usually died seconds later, and he almost never let his fellow Shinsengumi see him wounded.  
  
"You realize I've been stabbed, sliced and punctured more times than I can count, right?"  
  
"Oh. I...no...I didn't think about that."  
  
Saitou shook his head and let his gi slip back down his arm. "Alright Tokio. Lets go home."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"She's really such a serious girl for her age. Never smiles. But, she's so quiet and mannered. When I was her age, I was running everywhere, trying to get my sweetheart to notice me," the head cook said, pouring some rice into a pot of boiling water.  
  
"Oi, I'd probably be upset all the time too, if I were married to a man like Fujita-san. I heard he killed eight bandits just last week! I can hardly stand to be in the room with him. He's creepy. Got those creepy eyes that look at you like he's going to slice your throat at any second," one of the kitchen maids replied.  
  
"Hey, not so loud, huh? Probably shouldn't talk about slicing throats while Tokio-san is around," another servant hissed.  
  
"Where is she, anyway?"  
  
"I sent her down to the basement to get some things. She wrote me a note that said she wanted to make some sweets after I get finished making breakfast."  
  
Tokio leaned against the cellar door, listening to the gossiping servants. She'd been listening for weeks and hadn't heard anything useful yet. They went on and on, chattering about anything and everything until it made her head hurt. Thankfully, however, she had her early afternoons to herself. She'd spend the time walking in the Hachiko gardens or laying in a nearby grove, watching the clouds.   
  
Tokio didn't care much for the world she lived in. Since the death of her parents she had come to realize that happiness presented itself only as an illusion, waving itself in front of a person only to lure them into a sense of false security. Suffering permeated the world, and any gain of joy would necessarily be accompanied by a loss of something else. Such had to be the balance of things, since the world seemed to remain consistent, never growing in a total of joy or sadness, ever stagnant.  
  
In the late afternoons, she would return to the unit where she lived with Saitou, perform the few chores which needed to be done, and cook dinner. Her husband almost always returned late, would eat, and then immediately begin pouring over paperwork. It didn't seem likely that he would have much paperwork as a bodyguard, so she figured out pretty quickly that he had been stealing and copying documents from some source.  
  
Not that it bothered her. For the most part, since the day he had wanted to see how well she could dodge a punch, he hadn't laid a finger on her, which was more than she could say for her aunt's customers. She couldn't remember how many nights she had run out of Junpei's small house, only to sleep under the porch, in a doorway, or even in a heap of trash. In retrospect, the last one had been a pretty good idea since no one had ever found her there, until the night she had been stabbed by Saitou's blade.  
  
"Tokio-chan, what is taking you so long?" the cook called from the kitchen.  
  
"Do you actually think she is going to be able to answer you? What an idiot you are."  
  
Tokio took a deep breath, waited a few moments, then came out from her hiding space behind the door.  
  
The cook exclaimed, "Oh! There you are!"   
  
Tokio mouthed the word "Gomen", and then presented the cook with the requested ingredients from the cellar.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Tokio-chan! Tokio-chan!!"  
  
An incredible pounding ensued. Tokio turned away from her evening cooking and went into the front room to open the shoji.   
  
The cook stood before her, looking flabbergasted. "Tokio-chan, you must come quickly. Hachiko Izumi has requested to meet you."  
  
Saitou's boss' wife requested to meet her? Tokio wondered at the concept. Why would such a woman request to meet a part-time kitchen maid? The slender teenager held up one finger, indicating that she needed a second. Tokio went into the bedroom and put her hair up, checking her clothing for appropriateness. She returned only a minute later and nodded at the cook to lead the way.  
  
Tokio had never really seen the manor proper, but its decor and opulence didn't much surprise her. As a child, she had seen many homes of wealthy samurai, and while they had been decorated much more in the Eastern tradition, she recognized the quality of the more Western objects she passed. The cook led her to a room on the west end of the house, and opened the door.  
  
Inside, in a pleasantly tasteful room filled not at all with Western decor, sat a plump older woman with greying hair. Tokio bowed low as Hachiko Izumi motioned her inside and dismissed the cook.  
  
"You are Fujita Tokio, are you not?"  
  
Tokio nodded slightly in response, a bit unsure of how much of an answer was to be expected.  
  
"Its alright, child. I've been told that it pains you to speak. Come, sit."  
  
Tokio crawled across the mat, her head slightly bowed in respect to the woman of higher station. But, she caught a glance of Izumi as she settled herself at the low table. No one would ever call Hachiko Izumi a pretty woman, not these days. A flatterer might whisper that Izumi were handsome, perhaps, or stately. She had a softness around the eyes, though which belied a simplicity and readiness to laugh and made her all but unsuited to be called dignified.  
  
"I'm sorry I did not send for you at an earlier time. I do so like to meet all the ladies of our household. It gets so lonely, you know, being a woman, that we mustn't worry quite as much about station between ourselves. Would you like tea?"  
  
Tokio, again, nodded in response and held up one hand to prevent Izumi from pouring the tea that already sat prepared.  
  
"Cook gave me some of those spice cakes you made earlier today. I must say, you have a wonderful talent with sweets, Tokio. They reminded me so of some my grandmother used to make. She was a wonderful woman. There were whispers that as a girl she had fallen in love with a pirate, and that she had even sailed with him for a time, before their ship sank and she was rescued by my grandfather. What a wonderful story, mmm?"  
  
Izumi accepted her tea with a small smile and took a sip. "I suppose you shall think I talk too much. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you are used to people going on and on because you are so pained to speak."  
  
Tokio put her hand to her throat and whispered, "No. Alone."  
  
"Ah. But not anymore, hm? Now you have Fujita-san."  
  
Tokio smiled slightly. Although Izumi took the expression to be that of a young bride thinking fondly of her husband, Tokio had mostly been amused by the thought of anyone being able to claim ownership of Saitou.  
  
"I remember the first days of my marriage. I was young, like you. I felt myself so lucky to marry for love rather than having things arranged. So many years ago. Such a different time it was. How would I know that my husband would take a mistress?"  
  
Tokio's expression of surprise was only partially hidden by a bowing of her head.  
  
"Oh, no. Not that sort of mistress. He'd always been faithful to me. And he loves me, I know. But now he has a mistress named Japan. And he spends all of his time worrying about how to protect her. But for myself, I have been unable to find her, no matter how hard I look. Is she the soil? Is she the all the people, or a particular group of people? Is she an ideal? If only I knew, then I could help him to find peace for her, find a way so that she would not demand so much of him. But, she is cruel and remains mysterious."  
  
The young woman could only respond by placing her hand softly on top of the other woman's hand, a bold move but one which seemed to comfort Izumi.   
  
"At least your husband knows who he is protecting. He only has to look out for one man, protect one solitary thing. He must sleep well at night. My husband stays up half the night, peering out the window, wondering how many Dutch ships he should put into our harbor, wondering if the gaijin cannons he places there will protect Japan or harm her. Wondering if the trade route they will secure will bring Japan her happiness or her downfall. He takes so many risks for his mistress, looks so far to the future that he has forgotten the present...forgotten me."  
  
The older woman slipped her hand out from under Tokio's. "I'm sorry Tokio-san. I didn't mean to burden you with my sadness."  
  
Tokio shook her head and held up a hand, indicating that she didn't mind.   
  
"Will you come back again, sometime? And perhaps bring some more of those spice cakes with you? Perhaps it is a silly thing, but such foods seem to help me forget my sadness and think of better times, if only for the moment."  
  
"Yes," Tokio mouthed, bowing deeply as she stood to leave. The older woman smiled and nodded, and watched the graceful youth slip out the door. Ah. If only she could return, herself, to being 16. Then she'd be able to distract her husband from his problems without a doubt.  
  
For her part, however, Tokio tried desperately not to run back to her quarters. For once, she would have -quite- a lot to tell her husband.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Tokio. Pack your things. We're leaving Nagasaki. I've told Hachiko that you have a sick relative that needs our care."  
  
Things had moved quickly since Tokio had revealed to her husband that Hachiko had been dealing with the Dutch to put ships bearing foreign cannons in the harbor in exchange for a secure trade route. Saitou had been able to easily gain evidence after that, sneaking into the harbor and stealing documents from the harbormaster.  
  
In the following days, Saitou had only been biding his time to find a good lull for them to make a hasty retreat out of the city. Once they had done so, and a short time had passed, the information about Hachiko would be leaked to the public, creating a scandal that would at the very least get the man removed from office, and at the most, get him lynched.  
  
"When shall we be leaving?" Tokio asked, already opening her cabinet to remove her few possessions.  
  
"Tomorrow morning. Be sure to go and say goodbye to anyone you have met here. To not do so would be...suspicious."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio placed a small basket into the hands of Hachiko Izumi and looked at her with eyes full of an unknown expression.  
  
"No need to speak Tokio-chan. I've heard that you are leaving. It makes me sad that we shall not be able to spend more time getting to know each other."  
  
Tokio shook her head and then took a deep breath, pretending that speech hurt her much more than it did. "To escape...the sorrow...of a cruel mistress..."  
  
Izumi pulled back the cloth on top of the basket to find a pile of neatly arranged sweets.  
  
"Thank you, dear. And you have a good trip."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Where might we be going, teishu?" Tokio whispered as the pair strolled down a road leading east out of Nagasaki.  
  
"To a region outside of Osaka for now. We will rest there until our next assignment."   
  
As they walked down the path, Tokio watched her tall husband take confident strides. She had never asked him about his past, had never cared to know the man in front of her past the fact that she could use him as an escape from her aunt.  
  
But, now she knew. He had a first wife, a wife he had loved and cherished and whom he felt he had lost. He had a wife named Japan, and before he could rest in earnest, he would have to restore her honor.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A few weeks later, scandal broke out in Nagasaki involving some Dutch ships carrying cannons. The politician at the center of the scandal, one Hachiko Ginrou, hung himself in the stately office of his Western style manor after being ridiculed in the streets of his hometown by the very people he had wanted to protect. He had been pelted by produce and taunted by young and old alike.  
  
The next day, his wife, one Hachiko Izumi, died mysteriously in the bedroom of their home. No one noticed the now-empty basket which lay across the room.   
  
The basket once had contained a handful of sweets so delicious...she never noticed the bitter taste of poison.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In our next chapter: After a journey, the couple rests in Osaka. As they begin to learn more about one another, their lives are forced to take a new direction. 


	2. Chapter 2: Kata By Moonlight

Dear me. I forgot the disclaimer. I do not own the characters in this story, although, really, since they most are based on historical characters, it is hard to say -who- owns them. Nonetheless, I don't care to make any money off them, nor do I claim ownership.  
  
~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 2: ~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Do you wish to rest, Tokio?"  
  
It was the first thing he had said to her all day since "Good Morning", but Tokio had mostly become used to the silence. Her husband seemed to be one of the few people in the world who didn't feel the need to chatter no and on just because she couldn't speak above a whisper.  
  
They had been walking along the road to Osaka for three days now, and while she did, indeed, wish to rest, she hated to do so if Saitou was not also tired. Not that she felt worried at seeming weak in front of him. It merely annoyed her that she couldn't keep up.   
  
"No. I can go on, for a bit more."  
  
They had camped off the road the first few nights, a new experience for Tokio, and one she didn't particularly like. She'd slept outdoors before, but always in the city, away from the wilds of the forest which alternated between eerie silence and strange animal noise.   
  
Saitou seemed to have the same dislike for the outdoors as she. He'd run out of cigarettes the day before and seemed irritable, something he expressed not in words, but in violently destroying any logs, trees, or other impediments to their route. Tokio made mental note to squirrel away some extra cigarettes for the next time they traveled, if not so much to keep Saitou from destroying the entire forest, then to bribe rest breaks out of the seemingly inexhaustible man.   
  
They came to a fork in the road, and Saitou stared at a road marker for a moment before choosing a direction. "We'll reach the dock by sundown."  
  
"Dock, teishu? Are we going by boat?"  
  
"Don't be stupid, Tokio. How else are we going to get across the strait?" Saitou snapped in reply.  
  
Tokio merely glared at the back of her husband's head for a moment before casting her gaze downward in submission. Of course, logically, she should have -known- that they could not walk all the way to Osaka. But, she hadn't really thought about it. She hated making stupid mistakes. But, what did it really matter? Her husband could be as snippish as he wanted, as long as he continued to allow her the freedoms he had promised.  
  
Maybe in a few years, she could leave him. Though, the thought of that seemed about as pointless as anything else in this world. One existence would be as good as the next, provided it allowed her to exist in a minimal state of pain. That's all life really was, anyway, minimizing the amount of pain in which you lived without becoming too tied down to anyone or anything that might be taken away.   
  
For himself, Saitou fumed silently at not remembering to bring extra cigarettes. He'd just have to wait until they reached the dock, that was all. And then he fumed that Tokio was being infuriatingly non-infuriating. Maybe if she chattered or yelled or had some annoying habit or did -anything- besides just walk silently behind him, they could have had some sort of exchange which would have allowed him to relieve his aggravation.   
  
So, he took every available opportunity to attempt to arouse her ire. But he found that attempting to do so only went ignored. She just wouldn't take the bait. Was she a masochist, or did she just think herself above responding? As Saitou listened to the footsteps of the silent woman behind him, he had a growing suspicion that her lack of response stemmed from something even more annoying. He had a feeling she just didn't care.  
  
Compounding this idea was the fact that her detached ki seemed to be even more hollow and listless with every passing day, every hour. It didn't exactly present a tone of sadness, that was a hue he could easily recognize in a ki. Her just seemed, empty.  
  
"Tokio. Did you make anything to eat for lunch while cooking breakfast?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Damn it, aren't wives supposed to think of these things? Quit being so useless."  
  
That last attack, Saitou knew, sounded more than vaguely feeble. If she didn't provide him with some real ammunition soon, he would likely...likely what? Likely slap her? Pointless. She'd dodge. Likely run her through with his sword? Where in the hell did -that- idea come from? Unlike the Hitokiri Battousai, he didn't get married to women just to take pleasure in killing them later. Not only was that distasteful, it was thoroughly psychotic.  
  
But, nothing. She said nothing. She did not cry. She did not offer an amusing retort. Her ki didn't even flame in anger or sink into self-loathing.   
  
So, Saitou found himself vaguely -relieved- when he realized they were being watched. Watched by more than one person, it seemed. Whomever it was, they weren't really taking any particular steps to be secretive about it.   
  
The man who stepped out of the brush to a spot a few yards in front of Saitou couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. He wore dirty khaki peasant pants and a tan colored gi that might have once been white. Obviously both garments had seen better days. He had a short ponytail of brownish black hair pulled back from a lean but charismatic face.   
  
"Ah. What have we here? A man with a sword and a dainty little blossom. Don't worry sir, if you hand over your money, the girl shall not be harmed."  
  
"Is that so?" Saitou replied, wishing so desperately for a damn cigarette he almost considered asking the bandit if he had any.  
  
A half-dozen youths stepped out of the bushes, all bearing rather dilapidated sorts of weapons. Most of them seemed to be between the ages of eight and fifteen, and -all- of wore a hungry look that Saitou knew well.   
  
Several of the boys put themselves pointedly between Saitou and Tokio. The youngest one actually waved at her.  
  
"Mm. Amusing," Saitou noted coolly, not even bothering to put his hand on the hilt of his sword.   
  
"Hey mister. Please don't make me repeat myself. We really don't want to have to rough you up, we hate doing that sorta crap. So, you know, hand over your money."  
  
Saitou, himself, was currently weighing how killing starving bandits might weigh on the Aku Soku Zan scale. On one hand, they -were- bandits, a horribly disreputable business. On the other, they seemed to merely be hungry kids, likely war orphans. But he really -did- want to fight -someone-.  
  
Tokio waved back to the young man who held her hostage, a scraggly kid who looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. His face seemed lined with bruises and cuts in a pattern so intricate she felt almost mesmerized. 'Such a brave boy he must be,' Tokio thought, 'To continue living under such circumstances.'  
  
"Would you like some candy, young man?" Tokio whispered, holding up her bag to root around.  
  
"Would I?" The boy brightened up immediately, looking hopeful as the girl rummaged through her things.  
  
"Oi, Taki, don't eat whatever she gives you. It might be -poisoned-," the boy next to him said. At these words, Tokio looked up and blinked, twice, at the older boy. He seemed a lanky youth, more wiry than his compatriots. His head sprouted a furious mane of wild brown hair which he kept tied back with a red bandana.  
  
"But, Zanza, I'm -sooooo- hungry," Taki replied. The younger of the pair looked hopefully at Tokio, his cheeks puffing out, "It isn't poisoned, is it lady?"  
  
"Actually," Tokio whispered in reply, letting her bag fall back down to her side, "It is poisoned."  
  
"You're -sick-, lady, you know that?" Zanza said, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. "Poisoning little kids. How freaking gruesome."  
  
"No more gruesome than letting them starve to death," Tokio replied listlessly, turning her gaze away from the pair to an indeterminate spot somewhere deep in the woods. 'At least my way ends his pain. Yours forces him to linger in it.'  
  
Behind Zanza, Saitou still had not complied with the leader's request, making the young bandit extremely annoyed almost to the point of exasperation.   
  
"You don't like that girl back there very much, do you?" the bandit asked, indicating Tokio with a wave of his hand.  
  
"She's my wife," Saitou replied pointedly.  
  
"I feel sorry for her. What did she do to deserve marriage to a guy like you? Anyway. Enough chitchat. Hand over the money now. Or she dies. Do you get it? Is that sinking in to that creepy skull of yours?"  
  
Saitou shifted his weight impatiently. If this bandit would just -do- something, then he'd have a reason to draw his sword. Obviously this asshole hadn't been in the bandit business very long. Perhaps no one had ever resisted before.   
  
"Look," Saitou began. "How about this? If you can land a punch on me, you can take anything I have. If not, yare, I'll still pay you, just for the amusement. But, lets leave my wife out of this, eh ahou? Only cowards take -women- for hostages."  
  
This appeared to be an acceptable deal to the leader of the bandits, who squared off against Saitou as Tokio looked on from behind her husband and a row of young bandits with what appeared to be only a mild amount of interest.  
  
Ten minutes later, Tokio found herself once again alone with her husband walking through the forest. She found herself almost pleased at the fact that he had paid the bandits so well, even though the leader hadn't even gotten close to landing a punch. At least the little boy she had almost poisoned would eat tonight. She wasn't sure if she should find happiness in that consolation, as it didn't seem to provide any reassurance that the boy would eat the next night, or really any night after that.  
  
As for her husband, he seemed to be less violently destroying obstacles in their path, so, she supposed, it all worked out in the end.  
  
"Are you feeling better now, teishu?" Tokio whispered, noting the change in his disposition.  
  
"Aa. I am."  
  
Years later, when Saitou Hajime would come upon an ex-street fighter named Sagara Sanosuke (formerly known by the name of Zanza), the younger man would look into the older man's "evil" eyes, and recognize them from somewhere he could not place.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The boat ride to Osaka took two days due to unfavorable winds. Saitou's mood seemed to improve slightly when they reached the port, and cigarettes, as he at least stopped attempting to insult Tokio every other minute. Nonetheless, the Miburo peered out upon the waters from the deck coldly. He had no use for the sea, and had never seen anything useful come of it. Pirates, smugglers, even foreign ships bearing cannons. It seemed to him that some ancient God had deigned long ago that naught but evil should come from man's machinations to overpower the oceans.  
  
On a bench behind him, Tokio sat impassively, occasionally working on some embroidery, occasionally staring into space. Saitou turned his head to study the horizon. He had a pressing question he needed to ask his wife, and now seemed a good of a time as any.  
  
"Why do you want to die so badly, Tokio?"  
  
For once, Tokio seemed surprised, so much so that she dropped her embroidery and held only the needle. The young woman stared blankly at the sewing in her lap. 'Yare yare, this is interesting. She didn't so much as blink when I asked her to marry me, when I told her we were leaving Nagasaki, when I insulted her, or when we were attacked by bandits. It seems my deduction is indeed correct.' Saitou congratulated himself on his cleverness by indulging in another drag on his cigarette.  
  
Tokio parted her lips several times as if to whisper her reply, but then merely settled for looking up from her lap and glaring at her husband. For the first time, he saw anger behind those eyes, anger at someone knowing more than she revealed. Her intent stare promised retaliation for this trespass.   
  
"I do not see how that could possibly matter to you, teishu." Her voice, for once, turned from a whisper to a gravely rasp of warning.  
  
"But it does," Saitou replied, flicking his cigarette over the side of the ship with one expert movement, "Who do you think has to bury you?"  
  
Tokio picked her embroidery back up and began again to thread the needle. "Feh. Leave me somewhere in the woods to rot, then. I care not."  
  
He really -had- struck a nerve, hadn't he? Tokio had never been anything less than formal and over-polite in his presence. Maybe if he could just find a few more strings like this one, everything would snap into place and he could play her like a marionette. Somehow, Saitou almost didn't relish the idea. It was almost as if Tokio played the part of an occasional puzzle which served to take his mind off the other weights of the world.  
  
"I think committing suicide without a decent reason seems particularly devoid of sanity."  
  
"That's nice, teishu," she replied curtly, visibly attempting to focus on the intricate sewing in her hands. "But I do not have any such ideas in mind. Even if I did, what exactly do you think you could do to stop me?"  
  
Damn. A good question. He didn't really have anything to hold over her head to keep her from committing suicide if she took the idea to heart. No family would miss her. She had been brought into a loveless marriage and taken away from the city she knew as home. She didn't seem to have any goals in life she wished to accomplish or any overwhelming ideals which kept her bound to the world.   
  
"So what, you are just going to float impassively through life, waiting for an exit, Tokio?"  
  
"I suppose." Tokio replied, wincing as she pricked her finger with the needle by accident. "Most people are constantly looking for exits, and find them in the form of food, or drink, or pleasures of the flesh or...even anger. Everything which seems good in this life is merely an illusion and will bring as much pain as happiness. Because of this, I do not have anything, and I do not want anything. Why strive for an exit that is not an exit? You see, it isn't so much that I want to die...I just haven't found a good reason to want to live."  
  
Saitou pushed himself off the railing and moved to sit on the bench beside his young wife. If her eloquent speech didn't remind him so much of Okita, he'd have likely chalked it up to the melodrama that seemed issued part and parcel with youth.   
  
"I find the sea detestable," Saitou said, leaning back and looking at the sun overhead. Of course, he also found sunlight detestable, but the ship seemed cruelly devoid of shaded areas.  
  
"As do I, teishu," Tokio replied, executing an intricate stitch, her expression softening now that her husband had changed the subject.  
  
"And Tokio?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I heard what you said to that boy about the poison. If you try that on me, I'll know. And I will make you really wish you -were- dead."  
  
Tokio looked up from her sewing. Honey-colored eyes met honey-colored eyes as a cloud passed in front of the sun, finally coating the ship's deck in blessed shade. And in that matched gaze, something of an understanding based on mutual respect passed between the married couple.   
  
"Alright teishu," Tokio whispered as she tied off her sewing. "Tell me about Osaka."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The little house on the outskirts of Osaka stood at the top of a grassy hill. At the bottom of the slope, a sizeable creek wound its way past the few neighboring homes and continued on towards the city. Behind the house, beyond the high fence that had been constructed for the occupants' safety and privacy, loomed an ancient forest.   
  
Tokio never asked how Saitou arranged for them to live at the house. However, her husband seemed familiar with the place, so she assumed he knew the owners, or had at least been there before. The house didn't look recently lived in, but hadn't yet fallen into a horrible state of disrepair, so she estimated someone had lived there within the last few years.  
  
He'd been equally as cryptic about the length of time they would be staying in Osaka. "Until I have another assignment," was the only reply he would give, so Tokio didn't press the issue.   
  
They arrived at the beginning of summer and spent the first few days cleaning the house and repairing any damages that had occurred during its disuse. Neighbors would occasionally come by to greet the newly arrived pair, but would find themselves reluctant to return after meeting the "creepy wolf-eyed man and his all-too-quiet wife".   
  
After about a week, she awoke to find Saitou gone. He returned in the afternoon, wearing a pair of grey hakama and a crisp black gi.   
  
"I'll be instructing kendo at the local University during the day. If you get bored staying here, go to town and find something to do with your time."  
  
So, Tokio did. In the mornings she brought a basket of her sweets and embroidered scarves, handkerchiefs, and hair ribbons to the marketplace and sold them to passersby. In the afternoons, she would return to the house, have her lunch and do whatever housekeeping seemed necessary (while keeping an eye on the sweets she would bake) before starting the evening meal. Saitou would return around 5:00 covered in sweat and grime from teaching kendo all day, but still somehow looking severe and crisp in his black gi. He'd bathe before arriving to eat dinner, an affair which progressed -mostly- in silence, to the delight of both occupants.  
  
Nonetheless, they didn't stifle each other with their lack of words. Saitou would occasionally offer a few observances on his students or other faculty, and Tokio would fill him in on anything interesting that might occur at the marketplace. The sparse and rare conversation seemed enough for the two to keep an air of respectful civility.  
  
After eating, Saitou would read various newspapers he'd brought home. Tokio had tried reading them on occasion, but found them filled with bland politics. Instead, she spent her evenings working on embroidery, a task she found let her mind roam while keeping her fingers busy.   
  
On his off days, Saitou generally assisted in repairs and the heavier housework that Tokio could not finish, such as chopping wood. The rest of those days were spent tutoring exceptional students or receiving the occasional visitor. Most of the guests, Tokio could tell, were fellow faculty of the university, however a few seemed to be of other origins. These generally carried themselves with the confidence of warriors, and Tokio knew better than to inquire about the nature of their acquaintance with her husband.   
  
Tokio, Saitou noticed, seem to have little need for social interaction. When guests were received, she would excuse herself as quickly as she could without being impolite. Nonetheless, none of the visitors seemed to begrudge the young woman her shyness. Far too many women these days took on the annoying habit of being outspoken and less than demure.  
  
The sleeping arrangement remained the same as it had at the Hachiko estate, and true to his word, Saitou never imposed himself on his wife. She always went to bed far before her husband, and woke long after he had left.   
  
One night, Tokio had the idea to stay up and find out exactly what her husband did after she had fallen fast asleep.  
  
She'd had the idea earlier in the afternoon, and prepared herself by taking a long nap before her husband returned from work. After dinner, they passed their time as usual. After a while, Tokio put away her embroidery, and bid her husband goodnight.  
  
She'd been thinking for a while now about how to find out more about her husband. Not so much because she wanted to know him better, but because she wanted to find some sort of retaliation for the insight into her psyche he had revealed on the boat trip to Osaka. Even at the tender age of 16, Tokio had infinite patience. She'd cultivated that particular virtue over her years of living with her Aunt Junpei, and had decided patience was one of the most useful traits any person could possess, but one that few people, especially those of her own age, could master.  
  
Tokio put on her sleeping yukata and laid down on her futon. Save for the midsummer cicadas which could be heard rhythmically calling to one another outside, the young woman discerned no noise save for the occasional rustling of Saitou's newspaper.  
  
Hours passed before Tokio heard her husband stir from the main room. Through the shoji in the bedroom, she could tell that he had extinguished the lamp light. After a few brief footsteps, she realized he had gone into the courtyard. Tokio strained to hear what her husband might be doing outdoors.   
  
As quietly as possible, the young woman rose from her bed and slid open the shoji. She made her way to the courtyard in darkness, half savoring the bravery of her illicit actions, half filled with dread that she would be discovered. Her breath caught as she passed the final obstacle to the courtyard, a bamboo wall that jutted out to create a small barrier to shield the porch from the wind.   
  
There, in the fullness of the moonlight, Saitou Hajime stood, stripped to the waist, his sword held horizontally before him. Tokio watched with fascination as her husband practiced. The gleaming reflections of the moonlight upon his sword as it danced provided counterbalance for the taught contractions of muscles on his upper torso. Metal. Flesh. Metal. Flesh. The smooth movements of the fabric of his hakama seemed only to act as a thin veil for those two elements, like the cape separating a bullfighter from the deadly horns of his opponent.   
  
Tokio had seen many a kata practiced before, but never in such an alarming manner. Perhaps the difference lay in that her husband did not practice to become better at the -art- swordfighting. No. Even her untrained eye could tell that her husband practiced to become more efficient at killing. Every artistic nuance had been stripped away, leaving only a sword style based on the raw necessity of destroying one's opponent as quickly as possible.  
  
Tokio had heard of the Shinsengumi motto of "Aku Soku Zan", but she never once realized to what extent it could be refined. In her mind, she had compared other kata to meditation, to the flight of majestic butterflies, to the smooth flow of water over a stony creek bed. But in regarding her husband's fluid movements, his lean body sculpted through the continual diligent application of this profession, she found something more profound. Purity stripped of all sentimental attachments and grace unfettered by the need for society's approval embodied in one man's crusade against evil. Every decision, like every move of his sword, would be cast in black or white, life or death, good or evil. He -was- Judgment come alive and unleashed upon humanity.  
  
Her husband, she realized, did not eschew death, but neither did he seek it. He merely -understood- death. Understood it as if it were his own kin, his twin. And suddenly, Tokio knew he had not been taunting her own the boat. He had not meant to reveal her secrets merely to get under her skin. Perhaps Saitou merely sought to understand why someone would need to die to understand death.  
  
Saitou stopped abruptly, his back to her. Tokio watched as her husband sheathed his sword and reached up to pull escaping strands of wild black hair back into his high ponytail, casting his wiry back muscles in the sharp relief of the moonlight, reminding Tokio very much of a picture in one of her father's books on the Greek warriors of Sparta.  
  
"What do you want, Tokio?" he asked in a low rumble that caused Tokio's grip on the bamboo wall to tighten.  
  
"I didn't..." Tokio hadn't been prepared to speak, and found the words caught in her throat. Her whisper seemed to blaspheme the scene she had witnessed. How long had he known she had been standing there, Tokio wondered as she timidly stepped out into the moonlight. "My apologies, teishu. I napped earlier and could not sleep."  
  
'Really?' Saitou's mind drawled sarcastically to itself, 'You can sleep anywhere at anytime, Tokio. I've seen it. Much like a cat. What game are you playing now, hm kitty?'  
  
"Is that all?" he replied, turning to meet his wife's gaze.  
  
"No," Tokio whispered, stepping from the porch into the courtyard, "I was curious to find out what you do while I sleep."  
  
"And exactly what will you do with that information now that you have it?"  
  
After thinking about this for a moment, Tokio shrugged slightly and whispered, "Nothing. But I wonder, after spending all day practicing kendo with your students, you come home and practice more. Does it not tire you?"  
  
"Not particularly. I would ask the same thing of you and your embroidery. To me, your needlework seems to be the same thing over and over. But, I am certain it is different and interesting to you every time, ne?"  
  
"True," Tokio replied. She found his gi on hanging on a nearby post and handed it to him, sitting herself on the edge of the porch while he put it back on. "My father practiced but...I think he was born more for politics than for swords. He had a charming voice that seemed to entrance people, and he could sway any opinion. I guess that is why..." Tokio trailed off pursing her lips slightly in remembrance of the night her parents died.   
  
"Is it true your parents were killed by the Hitokiri Battousai?" he asked, sitting down on the porch a few feet from her as he searched his gi for his cigarettes.  
  
"Yes. I even saw him," Tokio whispered. "I had been hiding under the porch because I had heard a noise in the house. It was something my mother had instructed me to do, whenever I heard anything strange in the house, I was to hide under the porch. He came out of the house, down the steps and two men stepped out of the shadows to speak to him. He had hair like blood and eyes like the fires of hell. I remember...he looked at right me. Or, I thought he looked at me, but he mustn't have really seen me, because he left. The two men went inside our house, and as soon as I could...I ran."  
  
Saitou considered this in silence for some time while going through the elaborate ceremony of lighting his cigarette. "I fought him several times during the Bakumatsu. It always ended in a draw. As far as I know, only one or two others can claim to have met him in battle and survived. I'm sure your father was a good man, Tokio. But, there is nothing that could have been done."  
  
"That is what I have been told," Tokio replied, her whispered voice hollow, "And that is what I have accepted."  
  
"Yare, he's one dead hitokiri now," Saitou shrugged almost imperceptibly, "I suspect his own forces eliminated him after his usefulness ended. No one's seen him in years."  
  
"I see." Tokio almost seemed as if she were going to say no more, but then wondered aloud, "Will your people come for you when your usefulness has ended?"  
  
Saitou's eyes darted at the small form beside him. If anything, his wife was astute. "Are you...worried...about me, Tokio?" Saitou chuckled behind a veil of smoke, "I suppose someday that some idiot may try. They will fail, however."  
  
Tokio smirked in reply, one corner of her mouth moving upwards independently of the other. After what she had seen tonight, she had to agree.   
  
"Yes, teishu. They would be fools to try."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Summer turned rapidly to fall, and Tokio noticed her husband's irritability growing once again. He hoped, she understood, that word would come of his next assignment before winter made traveling difficult. But, no such word came. The lack of a focus for his life's work seemed to eat at him slowly, causing Saitou to become more snippish than he had been the previous season.   
  
In an attempt to keep the household civil, Tokio decided to try a few new recipes. In the summer, they had subsisted on rice and tofu cooked with a few vegetables, or on soba, which she found her husband ate with zest. Besides sweets, Tokio knew little of cooking, so she after she had worked up some courage to become acquaintances with a few of the other vendors in the market, she began to ask them for their advice in cooking other things.  
  
She decided to try chicken, the freshest she could find, and ended up buying one directly from a neighbor, who decapitated the creature while Tokio watched. Tokio returned to the house, a bit nervous about the idea of cleaning and gutting a whole chicken, but willing to try anything once.  
  
Saitou finished putting away various kendo equipment as his advanced students bid him adieu. He'd heard from more than a few of the older ones that he "scared the underclassmen witless". Upon noticing this, he encouraged the upperclassmen to spread rumors of the rigors of his classes. No need to waste his time with classes full of idiot layabouts.  
  
Of course, the Miboru's favored pupils were the ones who not only excelled in kendo, but in other useful areas as well. Those who assisted him in spying on the other faculty, of course, might be forgiven a tardiness or two. And those who hailed from certain backgrounds or espoused certain ideals might find their kendo errors to be corrected merely by sharp words rather than a sharp bokken blow.  
  
Classes had been let out early due to a festival being held in town that evening, and Saitou finished cleaning the training hall (a task he usually left for wayward students) and stepped into the passageway. Students scurried away from his presence, eyes downcast, like mice fleeing the presence of a hungry hawk.   
  
One ki, however, did not flee, but seemed to be approaching quickly from around a corner. 'Ah. Kozue,' Saitou smirked to himself as he pressed himself against the doorway, 'How many times have I told you, ahou?'  
  
As the pupil rounded the corner, Saitou pointed the bokken in his hands downward, achieving the double purpose of striking the young man sharply on the ankle and tripping him in front of his classmates.  
  
The young man rolled on the ground for a few seconds before sitting up to grab his now-stinging ankle. As he did so, he caught sight of the school's infamous and feared kendo instructor leaning against the door.  
  
"Ah...oh....uhhh...Fujita-sensei. I apologize, I did not see you."  
  
"Yes, Kozue, I doubt you did," Saitou replied, "Any particular reason you were running like a wild pig through the passageways...again?"  
  
"No. I mean...yes. I mean...no, Fujita-sensei," the student mumbled nervously, trying to scoot backwards to avoid the Miburo's piercing glare.   
  
"No? No good reason to run? Well, then for -no- good reason, you can clean the training hall after classes the rest of the week."  
  
"Yes, sensei," Kozue said, standing after some trouble and shifting his position to favor the uninjured leg. He bowed deeply and then limped off in the direction of some of his now snickering compatriots.  
  
Saitou watched his student leave and then turned to retrieve his things from his small office beside the training hall, smirking lightly. Kozue really had built up an amazing speed, Saitou had seen it in the boy's training. But he seemed to lack the ability to keep his perception focused on the details of the world around him. 'Good thing for him he's my favorite student,' Saitou thought to himself, 'Any of those other morons would have gotten a broken leg.'  
  
Saitou left the university by way of Isoruko Kojiro's office, politely depriving his co-worker of the previous week's newspaper and political announcements, as per their arrangement. After bidding the surly history professor adieu, Saitou Hajime walked home.  
  
Tokio had made quite a mess in attempting to clean the chicken. Feathers stuck to chicken guts. Her yukata had become splattered with blood and gore. Nonetheless, after two hours of fussing over the dinner bird, Tokio finally believed she had it ready to begin to cook. After washing her hands furiously, Tokio surveyed the damage, deciding she should probably attempt to clean the kitchen and bathe before her husband returned.  
  
But, as she considered the damages, Tokio heard the front shoji slide open. 'Too early for my husband to be home,' she thought to herself, waiting only a moment before deciding the person entering her home must be an attacker. The young woman pressed herself up against a wall, wondering how she might escape. 'No, Tokio, you must keep your wits about you. There is no way to leave the house without passing the front room. Perhaps whomever it is won't even come into the kitchen. Nonetheless...you had best be prepared. Tokio grabbed a nearby knife and put it into the sleeve of her yukata, tearing open a secret pouch hidden there.  
  
Saitou arrived home early, due to the festival. As he slid into the front room, the acrid scent of blood hit him with the force of a runaway carriage. 'Blood. I smell it.' The Miburo's eyes became slits as he unsheathed his sword and checked the front room for signs of trespass. 'No. The kitchen. And...Tokio is there, in distress.' He examined his wife's nearby ki, the usual detached hollowness now quivering violently from somewhere inside the nearby room.   
  
The next few seconds passed in a blur. The Miburo stalked down the hallway, silently, listening for signs of struggle. Arriving at the kitchen, Saitou slashed an "X" in the kitchen shoji and burst into the room, looking for his wife on the wrong side of the room due to her misleading ki. A stinging pain shot through the left side of his face and neck alerting him to the direction of his attacker. As he turned, the sight of the gored chicken sitting on the counter whizzed through Saitou's mind. Chicken. Blood. Tokio.  
  
Tokio stood pressed into a corner, one hand balled into a fist at her mouth, the other clutching her yukata at her neck. A yukata that once had been beige with blue stars on the sleeves, now seemed spattered in blood and chicken guts to which stuck tiny white feathers. Her amber eyes opened wide with both determination and fright, the teenager quaked slightly as she stood.  
  
"Tokio..."  
  
"I...I'm sorry. I thought you were an intruder," Tokio replied, removing her fist from her lips.  
  
"I smelled blood. Ah, kuso, Tokio, what in the....?" Saitou attempted to put his hand to one of the stinging spots on his face only to find he made it worse by brushing against whatever it was.  
  
"No...no teishu. Onegai, stay still." Tokio dislodged herself from the corner and moved towards her husband. Reaching her hand to his face, she whispered, "You frightened me. You are home early."   
  
Saitou remained motionless while Tokio quickly performed her ministrations on his face and neck. She pulled her hand down afterward and opened it for him to see.  
  
Needles. A good dozen. Along with two small slender bamboo tubes, one hollow and one covered on one end with a piece of string holding a bit of cloth in place.  
  
Saitou stared at his wife's hand incredulously. And then quite a few things snapped into place in his mind. The empty tube had contained the needles, which she blew at him to cause him to look her direction. The other tube would contain metsubishi powder, a concoction of blinding agents which would also cause chest constriction and hamper breathing.   
  
Suddenly, Saitou knew where he had seen Tokio's defense style before.  
  
"Are the needles poisoned, Tokio?" Saitou asked, sheathing his sword before bringing a hand to his still-stinging face.  
  
"No." Tokio whispered barely audibly, still shaking slightly., and breathing quite rapidly. The teenager deposited the implements on the counter.   
  
Saitou reached out and plucked a small feather from Tokio's cheek, smirking slightly. He indicated the tubes and needles on the counter with a small flick of his hand, "Your mother teach you this, too?"  
  
Tokio nodded an affirmative reply, looking down at her messy yukata. "I was making...chicken for dinner."  
  
With this, Saitou broke out in a low chuckle, "No? Really? With all this gore, it seems your chicken was quite a fighter."  
  
Tokio smiled slightly in response as her husband continued speaking. "Yare, Tokio, I don't eat meat. The...smell of blood and cooking flesh...I am not fond of it."  
  
The young woman bit her bottom lip in response. She looked at the chicken, and then back to her husband, and then back again. He didn't eat meat? All her efforts to cheer him up would be wasted. Nonetheless. He had smiled, even laughed. Maybe it wasn't a waste after all. Tokio sighed slightly and whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."  
  
"Alright Tokio. No need to get despondent. Lets clean this up and...then...I'd recommend you take a bath. Unless you want to go for dinner in town looking like you've just gone to war with half the fowl population of Osaka."  
  
Dinner? In town? Tokio beamed, smiling openly for once, her misgivings and worries cast aside. Wrinkling her nose a bit, she bent down and began to clean.  
  
Saitou watched his wife as she began to clean. A strange woman, indeed, but he had grown somewhat fond of his odd wife. Sneaky, clever, full of patience and shy. Lanky and graceful and able to surprise him like a wildcat jumping from a tree. Yes. She definitely reminded him of a cat.  
  
'And yare, yare, kitty,' Saitou thought to himself, 'Now I know something about you that I bet even -you- don't know.'  
  
End chapter.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Ok. More historical/fictional interweaving. I hope you like the brief meeting with one of the Kenshingumi that takes place in this chapter. I thought Sanosuke recognized Saitou's "evilness" a bit too quickly in the anime, and wanted to give it a reason. Also, according to the Shinsengumi historical fact page I found, Saitou did work as a kendo instructor at a University until he joined the police force in the 10th year of Meiji, so that is how I decided on that one.  
  
Metsubishi powder - as described in text. Onegai - please Kuso - damnit, shit Yare - well Ahou - moron, idiot, dumbass. Whatever. Aa - yeah. Teishu - husband 


	3. Chapter 3: Alone in Osaka

This chapter may not be suitable for all readers due to violence and upsetting themes.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 3 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"When I drank sake, I felt like killing people. I've tried to avoid it in the Meiji era." -Saitou Hajime, Episode 28, Rurouni Kenshin  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Winter came to Osaka, and with it, Tokio found that her husband's mood darkened. Messengers would be less likely to travel in the winter, and so Saitou Hajime had to force himself to be resigned to wait until spring for his next assignment.   
  
Tokio set out the bowls of miso and soba she had prepared for that afternoon's lunch. Her husband had been up since...well, she actually had no clue if he had even slept the night before. Pulling on a heavy coat, Tokio walked around to the back of the house to find Saitou doing the same thing he had been doing all day, chopping wood.  
  
He looked particularly focused on the task, scowling lightly at each piece of wood before he raised the axe and split it in twain. His spidery bangs would bounce slightly with each impact, recoiling from the blow.  
  
"Will you come in for lunch, teishu?" Tokio asked, shivering in the sharp winter air of the afternoon, pulling winding her scarf more tightly around her neck.   
  
"Aa."  
  
Tokio frowned. Although he had answered in the affirmative, her husband showed no signs of stopping his task. He was restless. Extremely restless. He had been for weeks. Tokio couldn't remember the last time she'd made up his futon in the morning. He'd spent hours cutting wood today. The day before, he'd paced, actually paced, from lunch until dinner. And several days before that, when he had come home from work, he'd spent the entire evening punching a nearby tree.  
  
Tokio, on the other hand, enjoyed winter. It represented the decay of everything, a slow drying up of the soul of the land. You could watch death slowly creep over the land, overtaking the plants, the animals, transforming the world into silence. She found herself especially fond of the sound of snow, a sound you could never quite remember until you heard it again. Like listening to the world from underneath a comfy blanket.  
  
"Would you like me to purchase you some gloves this week, teishu? Your fingers..."  
  
"Aa."   
  
Tokio had become somewhat used to her husband's progression of moods. In his normal mood, he was punchy, throwing out quips and hidden insults in a smooth manner. In that frame of mind, he was constantly planning, re-planning, researching. Single-mindedly focused on a goal.  
  
His next mood, she'd first witnessed on the way to Osaka. Snapping at the world, ready to fight anyone who stepped in his path. Irritated at whatever stood in his way. He was still focused on the goal, but annoyed at the obstacles for which he had not planned.  
  
But, this last mood, this one even made Tokio cringe. Hopeless withdrawn brooding. Doing anything to keep his mind off the fact that he had no goal, no focus. The wolf became restless without prey. He wandered around, not seeing anything, the look on his face half-rabid, and half-hollow, as if his own mind were slowly consuming itself.  
  
"The wood is not evil, teishu," Tokio whispered, almost pleading.  
  
"Mind your own damn business, Tokio," Saitou growled, holding up a block of wood as if he were going to throw it at his wife.   
  
Tokio stumbled backwards slightly in the snow, more than a bit surprised. He'd insulted her, sure, many a time. Called her stupid or dull or useless. But, he'd never made any intimation that he might actually strike her in anger.  
  
Saitou narrowed his eyes at his young wife, who simply bowed her head and turned to walk back into the house. The Wolf of Mibu placed the log, the one with which he had threatened her, on the block, and cut it in half.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
And so things continued, all through the winter. Tokio tried her best to stay out of her husband's way, but at the same time gently coax him not to destroy the house or either of its occupants. Somehow, she avoided the brunt of his temper, and found the strength not to poison his cigarettes.  
  
With spring, Tokio turned seventeen, an occasion marked in the Saitou household by her husband actually thanking her for making dinner. Tokio hoped that news of her husband's new assignment would come soon. Though she had grown used to Osaka, she wasn't sure how much more either of them could take.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
April, Meiji 4, 1872.  
  
Tokio admired the blossoming trees as she returned home from the marketplace. She'd never had much use for flowers, but the slow shower of blossoms reminded her of the snow. A mockery of snow, but snow nonetheless. For at least snow had the wisdom to melt and disappear, leaving no trace of its existence. But the wind would gather the blossoms into sloping piles beside more permanent structures such as trees and houses. And then, the blossoms would decay, and what once seemed as pure as snow would become a brown mass of sticky detritus.  
  
Tokio thought about the trees, about how lifeless they had looked only a few months previous. She wondered from whence they pulled the strength to turn green again each year. Was there some element in the sun or in the ground which provided the singular bravery to re-emerge? Or did they contain the motivation within themselves, dormant within their roots and bark, merely waiting for the snows to melt.  
  
However, as Tokio walked the path up the hill upon which the house sat, she heard a commotion coming from the courtyard. Breaking into as much of a run as her kimono allowed, Tokio soon arrived to find her husband engaged in a rather heated discussion with a young man in travel-worn clothing.  
  
"Useless cowards." Saitou barked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. "Why even form a coalition if you aren't going to have the backbone to see it through?"  
  
The unknown man backed slowly away as Saitou slipped underneath the shade of one of the courtyard's many trees.   
  
"How long have they known, Jusai? Eh, how long have they known?"  
  
"Three months, Saitou-san. But they figured now that you are married and settled here in Osaka, you wouldn't mind so much that the group had disbanded," Jusai replied weakly. "They just don't want to fight anymore. This Meiji era..."  
  
"I spit on your Meiji era," Saitou replied, his voice once again becoming cool enough to freeze a lake, "And upon all the foolish men who dishonor Japan just to save their own hides."  
  
Tokio entered the courtyard as quietly as possible, pressing herself against the fence near the gate in a futile attempt to become invisible. She bowed her head and stared at the bucket of tofu in her hands dumbly, wondering if the conversation would lead to bloodshed.   
  
"Perhaps it is time to put away the sword, Saitou-san. There are other things to be thought about in these times."  
  
"Such are eternally the suggestions of those who have strayed from the path of righteousness," Saitou replied, "No matter the era, they cringe when presented with hard decisions."  
  
Jusai's shoulders fell defeatedly, "If that is how you feel..."  
  
"It is. Now get out of my house. Your lack of virtue befouls the air."  
  
For a moment, Jusai looked as if he might say something else. However a slight breeze rustled the tree under which Saitou stood, causing the light to momentarily illuminate the Miburo's yellow eyes which bore a feral warning to the other man. Jusai's eyes widened slightly at the sight, and dejectedly, he turned to leave.  
  
Jusai headed for the gate, stopping only briefly to look over the young woman who had secreted herself against the fence. He gave her a pitying look before disappearing down the path.  
  
"Tokio," Saitou said, his voice like a fingernail running down her back, "Go inside."  
  
Tokio obeyed wordlessly, figuring that her husband would follow behind. But, he didn't. Minutes passed, and Tokio decided to busy herself by beginning to prepare dinner. She'd become used to not knowing if her husband would arrive for dinner, but made food for him anyway. Even if he didn't eat with her, if she left the food where he could find it, sometimes he'd eat it cold sometime during the night.  
  
Minutes turned into hours. Tokio finished her own meal and cleaned the dishes.   
  
As Tokio began to do some mending, a thought gripped her. 'What if he no longer wants me around? Now that it appears I will no longer be useful to assist him in his assignments. I've grown used to being near him. But, I wonder how he thinks of me. As some girl who tends his house, I suppose. Maybe he doesn't think of me much at all. His mind is mostly filled with Japan, and I can understand that. But, for some reason, I do not want to go away from him. He's made my life comfortable, but more than that...I feel entranced. His goal is like a fire that burns so bright it gives weaker beings something to which they can aspire. I want him to show me how to do it. I want to wake up one day and have a reason to look forward to the future. I want him to show me a reason to live.'  
  
And then Tokio made a decision, 'I won't let him send me away. I will stay until I have a fire of my own.'  
  
Tokio nodded slightly at her own resolve, and continued her mending far into the night, deciding to stay up until her husband returned. She would tell him exactly what she had decided.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio awoke to a loud crash, the haori she had been mending draped over her lap. The lamp had gone out, and the only light in the room came from moonlight streaming into the now open shoji.  
  
There, framed in the night's glow, stood the famous Wolf of Mibu, over a low table freshly cleaved in half. His drawn sword glinted blue in the night. A usually crisp gi dripped dark puddles of mud onto the previously spotless tatami mat.   
  
Saitou's long hair hung loosely around his shoulders, freed of its ponytail for the first time Tokio could remember. Shocks of wild black obscured his angular face as Saitou lifted his sword once more and destroyed a small table supporting the room's lamp.   
  
Tokio pulled herself tighter against the wall, hoping her husband would not notice her presence in the darkness of the room.   
  
When he ran out of furniture, Saitou turned his attention to the walls, dragging the tip of his sword along the periphery, as if showing them the blade that would soon cause their demise. Tokio watched as her husband crouched, preparing to strike. His left arm pulled backwards as his right stretched forward, aligning his fingers with the tip of the blade.   
  
And then Tokio heard it. It started as a low growl, slowly welling up like an overflowing bath, until it burst. Saitou's howl filled the room, reverberating in Tokio's ears long after it ended. At the same time, he thrust his sword into the wall, piercing through the wooden obstacle with a ferocity that made it tear like paper.  
  
Tokio's heart beat rapidly as the teenager tried desperately to figure out how to escape unnoticed. 'What has happened? Certainly, he was angry when he left, but I didn't think he would be -this- angry. If I can just crawl to the back of the house, I can run to the woods and hide until morning.' Tokio shuddered at the thought. The last time she'd had to hide in the woods had been the night her parents died. The night she'd seen the Hitokiri Battousai. Somehow, this night seemed not altogether different.   
  
"Tokio," Saitou hissed. He'd noticed her. Turning slowly on his heel, the teenager watched as the sharp features of her husband's face slid into view. His eyes. Tokio clutched her sewing to her chest. His eyes were bestial.  
  
As Saitou lunged at his wife, Tokio did the only thing she could. She tossed the garment in her lap in his direction, hoping to confuse him as she scrambled on her hands and knees for the back shoji. Unbeknownst to Tokio, however, Saitou deflected the thrown garment easily with his left hand and continued forward.  
  
Tokio felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck as her body flew upwards. A ragged rasp escaped her lips when her husband pulled her up by her hair and forced her body against the wall. Tokio felt the coolness of the wood against her cheek as her enraged husband's hot breath pounded against her ear.  
  
"Where exactly do you think you were going, -wife-?" Saitou asked, barking the last word in such a way to turn it into an unmistakable insult.   
  
The pungent smell of sake filled Tokio's senses.   
  
"You...you've been drinking..." Tokio whispered in surprise.  
  
Apparently unsatisfied with this answer, Saitou grabbed his wife by the shoulder and spun her around. Tokio looked away. She couldn't stand the expression on her husband's face, a look of overwhelming disgust. A look that betrayed Saitou's knowledge that he could kill her in an instant.  
  
"Aa. I've been drinking," the Miburo drawled, "And now, like any normal Meiji man, I've come home to the comforts of my wife. Have you any comfort for me, eh, -wife-?"  
  
"Please don't do this, teishu," Tokio replied, forcing herself to make her whisper audible. "There's no reason..."  
  
"No reason," He repeated, snarling slightly, "You're exactly right Tokio. This world is devoid of reason. Full of irrational people who say one thing and then do the other. So, why shouldn't I be one of those people, hmm?"  
  
Saitou pressed his body against hers luridly, smashing her into the wall. Tokio squirmed, attempting to wiggle free, but her husband's crushing hold on her upper arm held her firmly in place.  
  
Saitou's other hand raised up to grip Tokio's chin, his fingers digging into her flesh. Tokio's lips parted, forming a voiceless cry of protest as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.  
  
"Yes. The world is full of pain, isn't it, Tokio? Isn't it? Inescapable pain. Isn't that what -you- always say?"  
  
"You...you don't believe that," Tokio pleaded, "You believe...in justice...and honor...and virtue."  
  
"And you believe in death," Saitou hissed, "Why don't I help you find that escape for which you have been so adamantly longing, Tokio? Hmm?"   
  
Tokio coughed slightly, choking on the smell of sake and cigarettes. "No...I..."  
  
The grip on Tokio's chin tightened, "You what? What is it, Tokio? Tell me."  
  
"I...don't..." Tokio felt a tear escape the confines of her eye and fall down her cheek onto the strong hand injuring her chin.  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"I don't want to die! You made me want to learn why to live!"  
  
All at once, Tokio felt her body crumple beneath her as she slid down the wall into a heap on the floor. Her hands went to her face, shielding herself from further attack. The air filled with the sound of the harried breathing issuing from both parties.  
  
Saitou, having released his wife, now stood a few feet away. After a few minutes, the sound of a cigarette being lit cut through the air. Saitou inhaled deeply as he turned away from his wife and stepped towards the front shoji.  
  
"Go to bed, Tokio," Saitou said as he stepped out onto the porch.  
  
It would be the last time she would see him for almost a year and a half.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio, shaking, crawled towards the bedroom. She doubted that she would be able to sleep in her own futon, but where else could she go? She had acquaintances in Osaka from the marketplace, but most of them were officious biddies prone to gossip. If she attempted to sleep in one of the larger cabinets, she'd be in danger if her husband took to destroying more furniture.  
  
Finally, Tokio decided to sleep in the kitchen. It seemed least likely that, even in his drunken state, Saitou would take his sword to the stove.  
  
She slept only fitfully, waking occasionally to listen for signs of her husband's return.  
  
She awoke at dawn, for once, dragging herself into the main room to survey the damage by the morning light. Splinters of wood and bamboo lay strewn across the mat, the wall scarred in several places. Tokio spent the morning salvaging what she could of the room. She hung a wall scroll from the bedroom over the worst tear in the wall, cleaned the tatami mat, and picked up the broken pieces of furniture to be used as firewood later.  
  
This done, Tokio tended to her own wounds. Purple welts had appeared on her chin and shoulder from where her husband had gripped her fragile skin. The young wife bathed, and by noon had satisfied herself that she had done her best to rectify the damages done the previous night.  
  
But, her husband did not return that night. He did not return the next day, either, or the next. Tokio confined herself to the house, not wishing to have the market goers gawk at the visible wounds on her face. Besides, if Saitou returned, she wanted to be present to show him that she didn't harbor any ill will.  
  
Tokio wondered what she should be thinking of the entire situation. Most wives would be furious, others would be despondent. Tokio merely felt confused. She had been scared, certainly, but her husband had remained true to his word. He didn't take advantage of her. And he didn't kill her.   
  
'I suppose he has just gone somewhere to compose himself. To plan. Teishu always makes plans. When he has a definite plan of what will happen next, he will return home and tell me. And then things will return to normal.'  
  
Still, he did not return.   
  
At the end of the week, Tokio was running out of supplies. She'd have to go to the market soon, but thankfully, the marks on her face were disappearing. Tokio rubbed her chin gently as she peered into her small mirror.  
  
And that is when she heard a knock on the front shoji.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Tokio slid the shoji open only about an inch, enough to peer at the young man standing on her porch, but not quite enough to allow him to see her face. The man, boy rather, seemed to be about her own age, maybe a year or two older, with short black hair in a western style. He wore a dark blue gi and lighter blue hakama, both of which seemed a size or two too large on his wiry frame. At his side hung a well-polished bokken.  
  
"May I help you?" Tokio whispered.  
  
"I've uh..." The young man looked around as if trying to find words that might be written in the air, "Uh...um...I've come to ask...uh...about Fujita-sensei."  
  
"He's gone," Tokio replied, watching the boy fidget on her porch.  
  
"Do you know when...ano...when he will be back, that is?" the youth asked.  
  
Tokio didn't reply. She didn't know exactly what to say. Her chest seemed to be constricting. When -would- he be back? She had tried not to think about it too much, choosing simply to trust that he would return soon. 'Maybe...maybe he...has deserted me. He doesn't need me anymore, and he has left me here. Alone. But, why? Why after saving my life and after saving me from the streets...why would he leave now?'  
  
Tokio felt her forehead lean against the barely open shoji. She sunk to her knees, her face pressed against the cool bamboo.   
  
"Eh...uh...lady?" the young man asked as the sliver of Tokio's face disappeared from view and the sound of breathy sobbing reached his ears. "Lady...um...you alright?"  
  
Quietly, the youth slid open the shoji to find Tokio kneeling on the floor, her face in her hands. After a moment, the young man knelt down. And, even though the crying woman was a complete stranger, he gingerly put his arms around her and said quite firmly, "It's going to be okay. My name is Narajirou Kozue, and you don't have to worry anymore."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Thank you for making tea, Narajirou-san," Tokio whispered. "But, I really must apologize...."  
  
"Won't you call me Kozue? It seems...um...strange for sensei's wife to pay me such respect."  
  
Tokio attempted a small smile at the young man sitting in her living room. She watched as he fidgeted nervously with his cup, turning it around and around in his hand. The young woman nodded politely.  
  
"Yes, Kozue. I'm afraid I do not know when my husband will be back. Or even -if- he will be back. He's...you see...he..."  
  
Kozue held up one trembling hand as he looked around the main room which still showed a few signs of disarray. "Tokio-san, obviously there has been some sort of trouble. And um...I would not think to pry in sensei's affairs, not after all he has done for my family. Uh...I understand...um...that with sensei, often secrecy must be guarded to protect his missions."  
  
"Missions?" Tokio almost dropped her tea in surprise. "But, how do you know..."  
  
Kozue chewed on his lower lip for a moment, as if trying to decide if he were getting into a situation that might be over his head. "You see...um...Tokio-san, well, my father was in the Shinsengumi, one of sensei's men. After the Bakumatsu, he couldn't wield a sword anymore, and my family was forced to live...well...it was really bad. When Saitou-san heard about it, he helped my father get a great job as an assistant to a politician. Saitou-san said there should be at least one honorable man in politics. And, because of sensei's help, my father made enough money to send me to the school here in Osaka. So, that is how I know, you see. Because in my family, Saitou-san is known as a great man. Without him, I don't even know if my father would have survived the Bakumatsu."  
  
The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if the explanation had drained him. When Kozue's friendly brown eyes re-opened, he found Tokio staring at him with curiosity.  
  
"When you speak of serious things, Kozue, you hardly ever falter," Tokio whispered.  
  
"Aa," Kozue drawled, reaching up to twiddle a few of his bangs, which Tokio now noticed reminded her of shorter versions of the ones that hung in her husband's face. "Sensei says there might just be a real man inside of me, but the shy clumsy boy on the outside doesn't often let him out. Except, uh, he says it, you know, with more cursing."  
  
"I see," was all Tokio could whisper. She'd never really met anyone who thought so highly of her husband. Certainly, his fellow faculty respected him, as did his various political compatriots. Yet, those people respected him out of fear. But this young man, he seemed to almost idolize Saitou. The thought filled Tokio with a strange feeling, the same feeling she had when she saw Saitou give so much money to the bandits on the road to Osaka. Pride. She was -proud- to be married to such a man. Even if that same man had attacked her in some moment of confusion the previous week. Even if he hardly ever even noticed her presence. Even if he killed men in cold blood.   
  
"Tokio-san?" Kozue asked quietly, "Would you, ano, mind terribly if I, you know, came by every once and a while? I mean, I would consider it a great honor to...um...you know, just help you out if you need anything, while Saitou-san is gone?"   
  
"I don't know that I could pay you for such services," Tokio replied sadly, hoping that her lack of money would not scare off her newfound friend, "But, if you like sweets I could..."  
  
"Do I ever!" Kozue said excitedly, thrusting his arms up in celebration. As he did so, his empty tea-cup flew out of his hand and into the wall behind him, where it promptly burst into several dozen pieces. "Oh no!!!"  
  
As Kozue visibly fought off tears, Tokio reached over to pat the young man on the shoulder. Smiling for the first time in a week, perhaps even in months, Tokio whispered, "I think this room is cursed."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
True to his word, Kozue came by twice a week to check on Tokio. He chopped wood, helped her carry water, even patched up the hole in the front wall. But, most of all, he provided an interesting distraction from Tokio's constant brooding about her husband's whereabouts.   
  
Kozue, Tokio found, was an altogether different sort of person than she had ever met. Bubbly and nervous, clumsy but dedicated and honest. It seemed the young man didn't have a sly or devious bone in his body. Tokio constantly found herself tending to his cuts and bruises. And for once, Tokio felt her own shyness dissolve in the face of Kozue's overwhelming social ineptitude. She felt like a big sister, almost, caring for the young man who was obviously alone in a city far from his home. A strange turn of events, seeing as how Kozue was the older of the pair.  
  
"Tokio-san! Tokio-san, I....ooof!" Kozue had been running so fast through the courtyard that he failed to notice the shovel on the ground. Again.   
  
Tokio opened the front screen door to find her friend laying head-first in the dirt, again. 'I really should move that shovel.'  
  
"Kozue-chan," Tokio whispered, approaching the prone form with a frown on her face, "Must you run so? Here now, have you hurt yourself?"  
  
The young man flipped over onto his back and pulled at the right sleeve of his gi. "Ahhh, I've torn it. And..." Kozue hissed as his hand found the scrape on his elbow.  
  
"Well," Tokio said, lending her friend a hand to steady himself as he stood up, "Come inside. I'll find the bandages."  
  
Inside, Tokio patched up Kozue's arm and then bade him sit still while she mended the sleeve of his gi. "You came to tell me something, Kozue?"  
  
"Oh yes!" Kozue said excitedly, moving his hands about rapidly while he spoke. Tokio pulled her needle back in time to avoid getting poked. "I came to tell you, I made a perfect mark on my exam. Oh, but, that..um...was probably a silly thing to run about...I'm sorry for the trouble, Tokio-san, see, but I was...ano...so excited."  
  
Kozue babbled on and on, not even noticing until Tokio had grabbed his right wrist to hold it still. "Please be still, Kozue."  
  
"Right. Still. Right." Still for Kozue meant keeping one limb mostly motionless, while some of the others worked overtime fidgeting.   
  
"I'm glad you made a high mark. Your parents will be happy, hm?"  
  
"Yes! And my brothers, too. I have four of them, you know. I'm the youngest."  
  
'Well, that explains a lot,' Tokio mused to herself, imagining there was probably a lot to be nervous about with four larger boys constantly playing pranks on you. "There. That should be mended well enough for now."  
  
"Thank you so much, Tokio-san."  
  
"You're very welcome," Tokio replied quietly as she put away her needle and thread. She turned to face the young man and peered at him inquisitively for a long while, something which obviously unnerved Kozue even more than usual. Kozue squirmed slightly, trying to decide what to say.  
  
"You always have such a serious and sad look, Tokio-san. Sometimes it worries me."  
  
Tokio stood and turned around to find one of her scarves laying in her sewing basket. She could think of no response. Her husband had been missing now for five months. In a few weeks, the leaves would start to turn all the vibrant colors of October. Her evenings were filled with doubt. Should she go look for him? But where? And what if when she found him, he just told her to leave? He may not even be alive anymore. The thought was chilling, but Tokio forced herself to think practically.   
  
'I think I may care for my husband. Even though I know that everything you care for in this world will just end up hurting you. Why, then? Why do I allow myself to wallow in this grief, this torment, tearing myself apart with worry? Have I become some sort of glutton for pain?'  
  
"Tokio-san?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Kozue," Tokio whispered, noticing how even her soundless voice had become hollow, "I'll go make tea."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio had taken a job as a cook at a local restaurant. The hours were hard, and the days long, but in the end she made enough money to survive.   
  
'I just need to survive. That's all. That is all a person can hope for in this world,' Tokio thought to herself as she put another blanket on her futon. The nights were cold now. Tokio tried not to think of her husband being somewhere outside. Alone and cold. Not that the Wolf of Mibu, in her estimation, had ever exactly bemoaned being alone.   
  
'I suppose he married me out of some sense of duty. Some way to atone for accidentally stabbing me. I should have seen it then, should have known that I was only complicating his life. I suppose he is free now, free of me, free to be who he is and always will be. The protector of all that is honorable and virtuous...the sword of Japan.'  
  
With that thought, Tokio climbed into her futon and extinguished the lamp. Exhausted from her day's work, she fell fast asleep, unaware that the very man she had just deemed free stood only a few yards away.  
  
Saitou lifted his cigarette to his mouth, the tendrils of smoke mixing with the frost created by his breath in the winter air. It wasn't the first time he'd returned to the house in Osaka since his rather stormy departure. Every time, he expected Tokio to be gone. But, of course, where would she go?   
  
'She's not waiting for me. She just doesn't have anywhere else to run.'  
  
It had been a hard ten months. Saitou wondered if things would have been easier if he hadn't returned to Osaka all those times to check on Tokio. Would his conscience have been more, or less, clear? Had he been distracting himself from his true task by worrying about Tokio, or did worrying about Tokio make him more vehement to achieve his goals?   
  
'Damn it, Okita, you had good advice for everything except women.'  
  
Saitou watched as the lamp in the bedroom went out. About an hour, or roughly three cigarettes and a good deal of annoyed scowling later, Saitou Hajime quietly slid into the front room, walked to the back bedroom, and looked in on his sleeping wife.  
  
He knew he didn't have to worry. Once she fell asleep for the night, Tokio always slept soundly until morning.   
  
Tokio's long black tresses splayed around her like a pool of ink. Her lean face, full of feline elegance, seemed exquisitely expressive as she rambled silently to herself in her sleep. Saitou's gaze trailed over Tokio's trembling lips, down her chin, along her graceful neck so horribly marred by the deep gash that took her voice. Her slightly open yukata revealed a gently shadowed hollow cradled by the sharp angle of a collarbone. She was easily the most captivating creature he'd ever laid eyes on.  
  
Saitou couldn't exactly believe he was looking at his wife in such a manner.  
  
'Wait. You're supposed to look at her that way. She's your wife, ahou.'  
  
But, she wasn't really. Not that way. And certainly not after he'd attacked her. Attacked a -woman-. Cowards attacked women. And even lower than cowards were men who got drunk and attacked women because they were mad at the world. He'd pretty much not have many qualms about running such a man through.  
  
Temper. Always his temper. Every swordsman had a weakness, and he had worked so hard to cover his after that fateful day he had to flee his hometown. He'd strived to become the very visage of calm, cool, collected. The ideals he espoused: fair judgment, honorable combat, quick execution, these things did not allow for one's unrestrained anger to get the better of them.   
  
Saitou eventually left his wife to sleep. But, before leaving the house, he laid a white envelope on the recently replaced table in the front room.   
  
'If you're here the next time, Kitty, I'll assume you might be willing to forgive this wayward wolf.'  
  
And then Saitou Hajime disappeared into the biting February cold.  
  
When Tokio woke the next morning, she would find an envelope on the table on the front room. It was labeled with only the word "Tokio", and inside she found a considerable sum of money.  
  
Tokio felt confused only for a moment, until she realized who would do such a thing. To confirm her theory, Tokio lifted the package to her face.  
  
It smelled of cigarettes.  
  
Tokio smiled. Her husband was alive.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
After the initial euphoria of realizing her husband still lived wore off, Tokio began to ask herself troubling questions.  
  
'Why didn't he stay? Or at least wake me? Probably because he thought I would be bothersome and ask him when he would return for good. Maybe he thought I would be angry. Or, maybe he just didn't care to speak to me. But, if he didn't care about me at all, he wouldn't have left the money. Well, maybe not. He probably did that out of duty more than any sense of fondness.'  
  
"Tokio-san? Are you alright?" Kozue asked, looking up from the wares they both perused in the marketplace. Tokio had mentioned to Kozue that she merely felt out of sorts because it was her birthday. She knew full well that Kozue would assume that this, combined with the now almost year-long absence of her husband, weighed heavily on her heart.  
  
"Yes. My apologies, Kozue."  
  
So, Kozue had convinced Tokio to come to the market with him. He wanted to buy her a tea set to replace the one he'd ravaged with clumsiness over the past year.   
  
"Celebrating my birthday and replacing my tea set, I somehow don't think these are the only reasons you wished to be in the market today, hm Kozue?"  
  
The young man suddenly became very, very interested in some nearby gourds as he tried desperately not to blush.   
  
Tokio attempted to suppress a minute smile, "Aren't you the clever one, Kozue?" Tokio glanced around the marketplace briefly. "So, which one is she?"  
  
Kozue picked up a gourd and turned it around and around nervously, not saying any word except "Um" or "Uh" for a good minute.  
  
"Does she have a name, at least?" Tokio asked.  
  
Kozue took a deep breath and exhaled it as if releasing heaven itself from his lungs, "Kuwako Kume."  
  
"And have you spoken to her about...?"   
  
"Oh no, Tokio-san. No. No. No. No. No. I mean, she's beautiful, and I am so clumsy and...um...you know how I would mess it up, you see. And um, well, I just want it to, ano, be perfect the first time I speak to her, right? I mean, um, well, how was it that you first spoke to Saitou-san? Wasn't it perfect?"  
  
Tokio's breathy laugh startled the young man so much that he dropped the gourd on to the ground, causing the merchant to yell, "Hey! You'll pay for that!"   
  
As he attempted to placate the merchant by paying for the mishandled produce, Kozue asked, "What is it, Tokio, what, ano, is so funny, then?"  
  
"I met my husband when he accidentally stabbed me," Tokio said between breathy laughs, clutching her stomach. She started laughing so hard, her face turned red, and she gasped for air. Suddenly, the whole situation hit her as incredibly funny. Finding a husband at the end of a sword, dodging his punches in the park, almost killing each other over a chicken dinner.  
  
'Its so funny,' Tokio's mind screamed, 'How didn't I see it before? It is perfect. We're perfect for each other.'  
  
"Tokio-san? Tokio-san, please breathe!" Kozue exclaimed, bending down to fan the woman who now was on her knees. Tokio clutched Kozue's hand as she took deep gasps, the restriction of her obi making breathing difficult.   
  
After Tokio calmed down, Kozue led her to some nearby benches. The young man procured some water from a nearby vendor for Tokio, and sat next to his friend as her composure returned.  
  
"I apologize, Kozue. Thank you," Tokio whispered, now feeling a bit dizzy.  
  
"Um, is that true, what you said before, about sensei, ano, stabbing you?"  
  
Tokio smiled, but her expression turned suddenly hollow as she remembered the day, little more than two years previous, that she had met her husband.   
  
"Yes." Tokio looked around the marketplace. People tended to their daily business, hawking wares, buying supplies, making deals. Women in every color of kimono walked accompanied by men in every color of gi. The springtime air made everyone's step a little lighter, everyone's smile a little wider.   
  
Tokio remembered the quiet spring day she had married. It had been such a perfect day, she realized now. Though at the time, she hadn't really thought too much about the weather. Walking home beside a man she didn't even know, it might as well have been an arranged marriage. But, she knew him now. Not, of course, in the way that most women know their husbands. But, she understood him. She'd only lived with him for a year, and now she'd lived without him for a year.   
  
"Do you think he will ever return to me, Kozue?" Tokio asked, her whisper distant and sad.   
  
"Of course he will, Tokio-san," Kozue replied, patting his friend's hands gently, "Of course he will."  
  
"How do you know?" Tokio replied.  
  
"Faith," Kozue said with a smile, "I have faith that the man who saved my family will return to his Tokio as certainly as the sun rises."  
  
"You have such unbridled optimism, Kozue."  
  
Kozue squeezed his friend's hand gently and gave her his widest, most free smile. "Ah, but, Tokio-san, haven't you heard? Meiji is the era of optimism."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
August, Meiji 5, 1873.  
  
The night air hung heavily all across Osaka. Oppressive and dank, like an unwanted cloak of wet heat blanketing the city. Tokio had even given up on her sewing to sit listlessly in the front room, fanning herself. Outside, the summer cicadas had even relinquished their constant song, preferring instead to hide deep within the cool burrows of the ground. Not a single breeze lifted a hand to provide a moment's relief to the city, and even the water Tokio brought up from the nearby well seemed lukewarm rather than cool and refreshing.  
  
But, at least the evenings were slightly more cool than the days. Tokio didn't know how much more summer she could take, especially since her job required her to spend most of her time next to the ovens of the restaurant in which she worked.   
  
Tokio stood, her fan in hand, having decided that at least looking at the stars might be more interesting than sitting alone in the sweltering front room of the house. Outside, the heavenly constellations splayed themselves radiantly above the city of Osaka. Tokio gazed at the summer sky, feeling somewhat awed by the cloudless panorama of the distant sparks. The deep blue-black of the moonless nighttime sky mirrored Tokio's mood, but still the eighteen year old woman had to stifle the very childish impulse to see if she could reach up and touch the stars.   
  
Saitou Tokio was shaken from her reverie by the sound of horse hooves approaching at an extremely quick rate. Turning her gaze from the sky just in time, she saw the front gate burst open, cracking one of the hinges. The horse and its rider flew into the courtyard, creating a cloud of dust as they skidded to a halt.  
  
The man on the horse lay low to the saddle, his face practically buried in the steed's mane. He wobbled slightly to the left, then straightened himself, as if summoning the energy to dismount. But, removing himself from the horse proved to be too much. The lanky man poured down the side of the animal, landing crouched in the dirt.  
  
Tokio stepped forward carefully, leaving the safety of the porch to investigate the obviously wounded man who had ended up in her courtyard.   
  
"Are...you...alright...sir?" Tokio whispered, doubting that the man could hear her weak voice from such a distance.  
  
"Tokio..." replied the voice of Saitou Hajime, as the man attempted to push himself up from the ground. Saitou emitted a low growl of pain at the effort and ended up only swearing viciously instead.  
  
Tokio broke out into a run, lifting her kimono to an indecent height. 'It can't be. It...can't be.' She came to a stop in the darkness of the courtyard, kneeling in the dirt beside the wounded man.  
  
"Teishu?"  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, lifting his head slightly to look into the honey colored eyes of his wife.   
  
"You came back," Tokio whispered, looking at a face stained with dark streaks of blood and mud and Kami-sama knows what else. "Are you...injured badly?" Tokio continued, reaching up to brush her husband's wild mane of hair out of the way to inspect him a bit better.  
  
Saitou caught the young woman's wrist with the hand not supporting his weight. Recalling their last meeting, Tokio jumped at the quick movement, but suppressed the urge to flee. The injured man gently pulled the wrist, and its owner, towards him. He stopped only when he had placed Tokio's hand on his chest above his heart.  
  
Looking up, the penetratingly feral eyes of the Miburo turned distinctly soft for a moment, and then turned piercingly serious. "Yes. I am injured badly, Tokio," Saitou replied, running two fingers over the back of her trembling hand.  
  
In the most quiet and solemn voice Tokio ever heard from her husband, came the question, "Will you allow me to stay?"  
  
Tokio took a deep breath and exhaled as she pressed her cheek to the side of her husband's head, coating her own face with blood, sweat, and grime.  
  
"Of course," Tokio whispered, "Of course." Pulling backwards, she continued, "Can you stand? Let us get you inside."  
  
And that sultry August night, the tall Wolf of Mibu leaned on his wife for support as she carefully guided him back into their house. Only the silent cicadas heard the Miburo ask, "Tokio, are you crying?"  
  
The young wife of Saitou Hajime replied, "Yes, teishu."  
  
"Alright," he replied as they stepped over the threshold. "But, just don't make it a habit."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In The Next Chapter: Has love finally begun to blossom between Saitou and Tokio? Yes it has. Some interesting developments in their relationship, as well as a very amusing interlude purchasing a gift for Tokio. I hope you will look forward to it!  
  
Thank you for all your kind reviews. I'm sorry that this chapter is so very dark, the next one will be much lighter.   
  
Aa - "Yeah".  
  
Shoji - Sliding door.  
  
Ano (Anou) - Um/Uh.  
  
Ahou - Moron / Idiot / Dumbass.  
  
Teishu - an informal but archaic form of "husband". 


	4. Chapter 4: Important Documents

Warning: This chapter contains the mushy stuff, if you are allergic to a slight twist of citrus, best not read.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 4 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
'So many wounds,' Tokio thought as she re-wrapped the bandages on her husband's arm. 'So many scars. I can't believe I never noticed before how many scars he has. But then, I've only seen him without his shirt a handful of times, and then only when it was dark. I just can't believe one man could have survived so many injuries. Poor teishu, its inhuman what Japan does to you.'  
  
Although she spent much time thinking about the inevitability of death, Tokio wasn't quite prepared for the scene of gore she unwrapped that night in the front room. She wondered how he didn't die on the horse ride back from who-knows-where, how he still had the strength to talk her through binding his wounds.  
  
Tokio had wanted to fetch a doctor, but Saitou forbid it. "A doctor would ask questions, Tokio. Understand?"  
  
So, gathering all of her mental strength, Tokio boiled her needles, steadied herself, and while her husband bit down on a stick of wood, stitched up several of his wounds. The other, lighter wounds, only had to be bandaged.   
  
"The gash in your side is pretty bad. Long, but not deep," Tokio whispered, "Your right shoulder is bad, too. But, your sword arm is fine."  
  
Saitou didn't respond to Tokio's words. He merely watched his wife put away the bandages and needles. He'd never really had anyone care for his injuries before. During the Bakumatsu, he would merely go somewhere away from his men and stitch himself up. No one saw Saitou Hajime wounded, no one.   
  
No one, of course, except Okita. Okita had ferreted out his hiding places a few times, bringing him water, food, and clean bandages. He would have done the same for Okita, except the younger man never seemed to get scratched. No, his wounds were on the inside, eating their way outwards.  
  
And always, Okita would tell him the one thing that made him rest easy, made him able to tend to his own wounds without hurry and guilt. "Your men are fine, Hajime," he would say, for once forgoing his poetic treatment of words for a simple statement of fact.   
  
"You should sleep now," Tokio said, her back still turned to her husband as she washed her hands in a bucket of well water. "In the morning I will go to market and find something to try to help with the pain."  
  
Saitou closed his eyes, but only visions of battle and bloodshed replayed themselves on the backdrop of his mind. Unlike some men, those Saitou killed did not viciously haunt him. His conscience was clean, for he knew himself, quite vehemently, to be on the side of righteousness. Nonetheless, his life's stunning whirlwind of battle after battle did take its toll in that it was never-ending. War comprised his past and would comprise his future. Saitou wanted only to look away, just for a moment, just to see something amazing and clean and righteous. Just to know it was possible for such a thing to exist outside of his own dreams.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he saw Tokio smirking slightly at him as she picked up his battered gi.   
  
"Stay with me tonight, Tokio."  
  
Tokio tilted her head slightly at the words, as if not understanding. After a moment she nodded slowly. Wordlessly, she fetched an extra blanket from a nearby cabinet and laid down next to her husband.   
  
Saitou gritted his teeth as he turned his head to look at his wife laying on her side next to him. Even in the darkness, he could see the glow of her catlike eyes, watching him back, their owner never speaking. The hot August air clouded his mind almost as much as the pain, but Saitou Hajime knew he wasn't hallucinating when Tokio's hand reached up and lightly brushed his long bangs out of his face.   
  
She'd grown since he met her. Grown from a withdrawn and brooding girl to a woman with amazing and rare qualities. Strength, certainly, but not the kind found at the end of the sword. She had the strength to look him in the eye, to stitch his wounds, to stick out a year by herself without much more than a word from her husband. Strength, courage, loyalty, and devotion to duty.  
  
Just like the men of the Shinsengumi.  
  
'I don't have my men anymore. But, this time I will heal for Tokio.'  
  
Tokio closed her eyes, sleeping soon after. She slept as soundly as always, so she never heard her husband murmur: "Goodnight, Kitty."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I despise August," Saitou Hajime snarled in the direction of his very placid wife.  
  
"Yes. As do I, teishu, as do I," Tokio replied, executing another stitch on a ladies' hair bow she was sewing.  
  
The conversation had been like this all afternoon. Saitou would mention he despised something, and his wife would calmly agree. Tokio had been able to finagle a few days off from work to tend to her 'sick husband', which meant both of them had been spending a lot of time in the front room. She'd tried reading him a newspaper, but the news appeared to agitate her husband even more, causing him even to try to sit up once and snatch it away, so Tokio gave up on that project.   
  
He slept intermittently, but still not enough in Tokio's estimation. At least he ate everything she handed him. He'd grown even more incredibly gaunt during his travels, disturbingly so. Tokio almost asked him why he didn't use the money he had left her to buy food for himself, but decided she probably didn't want to know the answer to that question.  
  
"I despise foreigners," Saitou drawled.  
  
"Yes, they can be quite manipulative and destructive," Tokio agreed.  
  
And so the afternoon continued, with both parties wanting to ask a million different questions of the other, but neither quite wanting to be the one to bring up the subjects. Tokio wondered if that would always be the way things would go between them, with so many things left unsaid, so many questions never asked.   
  
"Give me a cigarette, Tokio," the Miburo demanded.  
  
"No, I do not think so," his wife calmly replied.  
  
Saitou muttered faint curses under his breath. At least the men of the Shinsengumi would have given a wounded compatriot a cigarette if he asked for it. He was pretty sure that, somehow, Tokio was being completely unreasonable today.   
  
Saitou narrowed his eyes and tried a different tactic. "Bitch."  
  
Tokio looked up from her sewing, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she whispered: "You know, you're completely insufferable when you're injured. I hope you're not going to make a habit of it."  
  
"I'd be less insufferable if you gave me a damn cigarette."  
  
Tokio rolled her eyes and went to find the cigarettes she had secreted away in the cabinet. "If you die, I'm not going to bury you. I'm just going to leave you in the woods for the -other- animals."  
  
"Yare, yare, Tokio, where'd this attitude come from, eh?" Saitou replied, snatching the dangled cigarette out of his wife's fingers. Leaning over to the nearby lamp, he lit the slim white tube and inhaled deeply.   
  
"I..." Tokio looked suddenly stricken, her face going pale. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." Tokio trailed off, refusing to look at her husband, she instead picked up her sewing once again and whispered, "You were gone for such a long time."  
  
Saitou looked around for somewhere to ash his cigarette and finally decided on a nearby teacup, "Are you saying you were angry with me, Tokio?"  
  
"No. I wasn't angry until you came back."  
  
"I'm hurt, Tokio. Really." Saitou replied dryly. "So, what, your plan is to make me healthy and then kick me out?"  
  
"I don't make plans, teishu. You make plans," Tokio hissed, her hands beginning to shake. "But you never tell me what they are."  
  
"Kuso, Tokio, if you're in such agony with me around, why didn't you leave Osaka when I left you the money?"  
  
Tokio's eyes grew wide with shock. She hadn't even considered that as his motivation for leaving the envelope, "Is that...is that what you wanted?"  
  
Saitou took a deeply pained breath as he sat up, staring menacingly at his visibly shaken wife. "I thought it might be what you wanted."  
  
"No," Tokio whispered, "I just wanted to know. I wanted to know where you were and that you were alright. And now you come back to me, wounded and sickly and I'm angry...that...that..."  
  
"Tokio..." Saitou said, pointedly putting his cigarette out in the teacup. "I'm going to be fine."  
  
Pursing her lips, Tokio crawled over to retrieve the soiled teacup. "Not if you keep ruining the dinnerware."  
  
Saitou Hajime watched as his prey moved ever closer, retrieving her quarry. 'Yes Kitty. Can't stand a dirty teacup. I know you. That's right. Push your hair over your left shoulder. Now bend down and pick it up with your right hand.'  
  
Tokio thought she was reaching for a teacup. Instead, she ended up being grabbed by the wrist and waist by a very clever injured man. Saitou snarled briefly at the pain of moving his wounded shoulder, but concentrated instead on pulling his wife to a position kneeling over him in an almost perpendicular position to his own body. Her hair fell into his face, but he pushed it away as he reached up and placed his hand against her cheek.  
  
Tokio's face suddenly became emotionless, her passive mask falling back into place. But, her trembling lips belied the woman beneath the falsehood.   
  
"Will you forgive me, Tokio-neko?"  
  
Tokio nodded almost imperceptibly. "You won't drink anymore." It wasn't a request so much as a command, a statement of what Tokio decided would be true about their combined lives from now on.  
  
Saitou caressed his wife's cheek gently with the back of his fingers as he stated, "I'll try."  
  
The Miburo lifted his head slightly and pressed his lips to Tokio's forehead. Tokio's breath caught in her throat in a sound almost too subtle for him to hear. Saitou removed his mouth from Tokio's warm skin and licked his lips. Her taste lingered there, the taste of powdered sugar and honey that had absorbed into her pores from her long days of cooking treats for the masses.   
  
Tokio's shoulders rolled back slightly as she observed her husband, their closeness mystifying her with a strange feeling of longing. "You have a very hungry look, teishu."  
  
"Perhaps I am hungry," Saitou replied, his voice turning low and gravely. The incandescent eyes of the Mibu Wolf searched his wife's face for traces of fear. Instead, he found only an incomprehensible look of placidity.  
  
"Shall I...make you dinner, then?"  
  
"Aa," came the answer, as Saitou removed his hand from his wife's cheek. But, before she moved away, Tokio noticed a strange flicker of emotion cross her husband's visage. He wore an amused expression which punctuated itself with a crafty smirk.  
  
As Tokio left the room, Saitou cursed slightly to himself. 'Kuso, Kitty. You're the most illusive prey yet. But, I know, I know what must be done. I can't break my promise to you, not again. But, you'll see. You'll see. You can't stop the Wolf of Mibu once he has a plan. No one will ever stop me from getting what I want. And, come to think of it....'  
  
"Goddamnit, Tokio, get back in here and give me my cigarettes!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Tokio, my sword, quickly," Saitou said, sitting up on the makeshift futon suddenly alert, his body becoming instantly ignorant of pain. Someone was coming up the path to the house at an incredible speed. A warrior, someone with a relatively strong ki but without the sense to hide it.   
  
Tokio, who had been scrubbing the floor in the hallway, stood up immediately, dropping her wet rag. She rushed into the front room to grab the sword from its spot leaning against the wall.  
  
"But you can't..." Tokio whispered hurriedly, handing her husband the sword that he promptly unsheathed. "You can't even stand without..."  
  
Proving his wife wrong, Saitou rolled to one side and pushed himself up by digging the blade of his katana into the wooden floor. Now in a crouched position on one knee, Saitou faced the front shoji.  
  
"Stay behind me, Tokio. There may be others at the back of the house I can't sense."  
  
If he used the strength of his uninjured leg to propel himself forward, he could probably skewer the attacker through the paper door. But, if there were indeed others, like he suspected, he'd be all but useless. At least it would give Tokio a chance to run.  
  
The warrior ki came closer, burning brightly with unchecked and untamed spirit. 'He'll be in the courtyard soon.'  
  
"Tokio, when I say run. Run," Saitou commanded, his voice becoming gritty and calm as his entire body prepared itself for battle.  
  
"Tokio-san!!!" A male voice called from the courtyard. "Tokio-san...you...ano, Tokio-san, there's a horse in your...ooof!"  
  
Tokio would have poisoned all the children in Kyoto just to see her husband's expression at that moment. Unfortunately, all she could see was the back of his head, which moved backwards slightly.   
  
"Who...is...that?"  
  
With feline grace, Tokio stepped around her husband and opened the front shoji a slim crack. "Kozue."  
  
"Kozue? Narajirou Kozue?"  
  
"Yes," Tokio replied, moving towards the cabinet containing the medical supplies. "While you were gone he...well, he was very kind."  
  
"Oi, Tokio-san," came the voice from the courtyard, "I...uh...think I might need a bandage. Ah, kuso, you beast, quit nuzzling me in the...argh...goddamn horse!"  
  
As Tokio turned back around, she saw her husband's torso lunge forward, though the man himself stayed on his knees. Saitou's unnamed sword caught one of the bamboo slats in the shoji and slammed it open.   
  
"Don't curse in front of my wife, ahou." Saitou warned. 'I'm the only one who gets that privilege,' he added to himself.  
  
"Sen...sensei!" Kozue exclaimed in both delight and shocked surprise. "You've returned!" The young man shot up from his position laying in the dirt, causing the nearby horse to skitter backwards and then trot off. Kozue shifted his stance from right to left and back again, testing his legs like a new spring fawn. He brushed the dirt from his clothing.  
  
"And you haven't grown any more focused, I see." Saitou plucked his sword out of the bamboo and shifted himself to sit against a nearby wall.   
  
"Well, I always was your most baka deshi, eh?" Kozue replied with a free spirited grin as he stepped up onto the porch, taking the cloth bandages from a waiting Tokio. "Thank you, Tokio-san."  
  
"Don't be absurd," Saitou snapped, "What kind of man takes idiots for students? Its belittling."  
  
Tokio picked up a nearby blanket and draped it over her husband, hiding his wounds. Unfortunately, she didn't move fast enough to keep the sight from Kozue's keen eye.  
  
"Are you, ano, injured, sensei?"  
  
Before Saitou could reply, Tokio whispered, "It is only a scratch, Kozue. I'm just overprotective. It's silly really."  
  
Tokio turned her back to her husband's stare. She wouldn't let someone else know about her husbands wounds any more than the Miburo would. What hurt his pride hurt her as well. "It isn't anything more than a wife's concern. Anyway, will you be staying for tea?"  
  
"No, I just came to tell you the great news. After I graduate this term, I've been, um, offered a position as an assistant master at a local dojo!"  
  
Tokio clasped her hands together in front of her obi in a subdued expression of delight, "That is wonderful, Kozue. We'll have to celebrate sometime soon."  
  
"Gah. What a menace," Saitou said with a sneer. "We'll be sparring soon Kozue. I won't allow a hazard to be unleashed onto the unsuspecting juvenile contingent of Osaka. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Be here."  
  
"Yes. Of course, sir."   
  
Tokio thought the expression on Kozue's face could only be described as rapturous, like a child who had been told they would be getting a carriage ride to the moon. Suddenly, a dark worry ate at Tokio's conscience. 'Kozue is far too trusting. Far too kind. He could get hurt being mixed up with the pair of us. How can he be a swordsman? He can barely even walk to the market without falling flat on his face. Perhaps teishu sees this, too. Perhaps he will stop him.'  
  
Kozue made his goodbyes to the Saitous, and left the way he came, though he pointedly avoided both the horse and the sinkhole on his way out.   
  
"Yare, yare, Tokio. Exactly how entertained did that young man keep you while I was away?"  
  
Tokio crossed her arms over her chest, "Kozue was a perfect gentleman towards me." Her glare implied the last few words, 'Unlike some men I know.' She took the sword that her husband handed her and placed it back against the wall, "Are you jealous?"  
  
Saitou chucked evilly. Leaning his head against the wall, he closed his eyes. "Of that boy?" Tokio smiled slyly over her shoulder at her husband as he continued, "That's a very amusing joke, Tokio."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Again! And focus, damn it all, Kozue. Quit wasting my time."  
  
Tokio stepped out into the courtyard with a tray of cherry-flavored tea made from the very last of her springtime extracts. With autumn's colors beginning to lick at the ends of the summertime leaves, it would be some time before such a treat could be had once again. Tokio set the tea down on the porch and headed towards the training men..  
  
There, covered in sweat from the afternoon's exercises, stood her husband and his favorite pupil, both holding bokkens in mirror stances of one another. Tokio had seen them practice a few times now, but still found herself surprised each time by the grace with which Kozue executed his moves. He didn't falter even once, his speed becoming deadly even with a wooden sword. How he could exhibit such grace in training while, at all other times, being so accident-prone, Tokio couldn't understand. Still, against the practiced moves of her husband, Tokio knew she had no worry of the two men really hurting each other. Well, as long as Kozue remained obedient, anyway.  
  
"Once you put a sword in his hands, be it wooden or metal, the true samurai in that boy shows himself," her husband had said.   
  
"You aren't going to teach him the Mugai Ryu, teishu," Tokio had replied, surprised, "It is dangerous. He has a good heart, but...well, he isn't exactly the most intelligent young man in Japan."  
  
"He can safely know most of it. But, not my personal modifications. Those were created only to further Shinsengumi ideals. And while Kozue's heart is virtuous and idealistic, his mind isn't strong enough to carry the burden of 'Aku Soku Zan'. Don't worry, Tokio. I know what I am doing."  
  
Tokio watched as the two men charged one another, the sharp clacking of wood on wood ringing through the yard. 'At least he is moving better again. Those first few practices were so stiff, even Kozue could tell something was wrong. Afterwards he was in so much pain, he wouldn't even talk, not even to insult me.'  
  
"Gentlemen, will you have tea?" Tokio whispered as the two continued to practice. Neither noticed the quiet woman's almost soundless request over the din of battle. Tokio attempted a different tactic. She clapped her hands together loudly. Nothing. The training continued as Kozue leapt at his sensei with renewed dedication.  
  
'They are going to force me...to do something...quite unladylike,' Tokio thought to herself as she balled her hands into fists at her side. Usually, she didn't much mind being ignored. In fact, she relished the virtual social invisibility that her demure nature, loss of voice, and status as a woman gave her. But, the tea -was- very special and it would be improper to let it go stale. 'He's going to tease me about this later, I just know it. How annoying.'  
  
As the two men pushed off from one another, a piercing shriek echoed through the air. Immediately, the two men stopped fighting and turned their heads to witness Tokio taking her fingers out of her mouth.   
  
'Ugh,' Tokio thought, 'Mother always said that only tomboys whistle.'  
  
Composing herself, Tokio bowed her head slightly and repeated her question, "Will you gentlemen have tea?"  
  
Like every evening that Kozue visited, the two men discussed politics late into the night. When they weren't discussing politics, they recalled famous battles of samurai past or discussed the intricate minutia of various fighting styles they had seen. Tonight, however, Saitou was re-telling the story of the 47 ronin of Harima with a fierce and animated vigor that Tokio had never seen in her husband.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"It is the most important depiction of the code of the samurai in Japanese history, Kozue. And the fact that you can't even recall the details properly disturbs me. You've obviously been disregarding your studies."  
  
"In the days of the Shogun Tsunayoshi, one of his damiyo, a Lord Asano, hired an advisor by the name of Yoshinaka Kira-Kozukenosuke. Now, Lord Asano was a fair and righteous man, performing his duties in the name of the Shogun with honor. But, his advisor, Kira, was known to all of Japan to be a greedy cur. He demanded exorbitant tributes for his service, and when he did not receive what he thought to be his due, he attempted to publicly humiliate his employer time and again."  
  
"Fed up with this treatment from a man considered his inferior, Lord Asano drew his sword within the walls of the Edo castle to threaten Kira, to scare him. Unfortunately, he got mildly carried away, leaving Kira with a small wound."  
  
"Because drawing your sword within the castle, by itself, was a treasonous offense, the Shogun had no choice but to order Lord Asano to commit seppuku as a criminal."  
  
"Now, Lord Asano had commanded an extensive group of samurai, 321 in all. And, upon his death, they would, by tradition, become ronin. The castle belonging to Lord Asano would be confiscated by the Shogun. Not wishing to anger the Shogun, most of the samurai disbanded. But, 60 loyal samurai, who were angered by the death of their Lord as a criminal, bound themselves with a promise to Lord Asano's brother, Daigaku, to restore Lord Asano's honor."  
  
"The 60 samurai then disappeared into the night. For two years, they wandered Japan, ridiculed by the people, who considered them honorless cowards who had fled in the face of danger and strife. Many disguised themselves as merchants or street vendors to be able to live, but all had to live with the shame that tarnished their Lord's reputation, as well as their own."  
  
"At the appointed time, the samurai returned to Edo, one by one, in disguise. There they met and planned their next move. However, of the 60 samurai, 13 were sent home by the other samurai. These men had wives who were in delicate conditions, or other relatives who depended on them and them alone to survive."  
  
"Kira, who had put aside the concern of the missing ronin after the 2 years, was living in splendor in Edo."  
  
"In the midst of a snowy night in December of 1702, the 47 ronin loyal to Lord Asano attacked Kira's house. They killed over 60 guards and lost not a single man of their own. They found Kira and offered to allow him to retain his honor by committing seppuku. But, Kira was such a coward that he would not even die with honor, and so the ronin beheaded him."  
  
"The 47 ronin brought Kira's severed head to the grave of their master to show him that his honor had been restored. To signify their own loyalty and the completion of their mission, and because all that awaited them was death at the hands of the Shogun, 46 of the 47 ronin committed seppuku at the grave of their master. The youngest samurai among them was sent to the Shogun as a messenger to relate the story of the events."  
  
"The Shogun was deeply impressed by the loyalty and dedication of the ronin, and allowed the messenger to live. All 46 samurai were buried alongside their master and are honored continually by those who visit there to pay tribute to their courage and loyalty."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You tell that story with such fire, sensei. I never tire of hearing it," Kozue said as Tokio nodded in agreement from the corner. "Well, um, seeing as how I can't top that, and I am sure my presence, uh, is keeping Tokio-san from her sleep, I suppose I will be going. Good evening, Tokio-san. Sensei, I'll see you tomorrow at school."  
  
"Goodnight, Kozue," Tokio whispered. "Be careful walking home in the dark."  
  
'Something bad is going to happen to that boy,' Tokio thought to herself, 'Something bad always happens to anything I care for.'  
  
Saitou closed the shoji behind his student and turned to look at the quiet woman sitting in the corner.  
  
"You really do tell that story well, teishu," Tokio whispered, standing to straighten up the room before bed. "You impressed Kozue quite a bit."  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, digging a cigarette out of his gi, "It is an important story. My father told it to me every night for years."  
  
"Oh?" Tokio asked as she placed all the teacups back on the tray, She found it hard to imagine Saitou as a small boy, much less as someone's son. 'Of course he has parents,' Tokio mentally corrected herself, 'What did you think, that he sprung from the Earth with a high ponytail and a sword in hand?'  
  
Saitou lit his cigarette in silence, and appeared to be considering if telling Tokio more would be of any negative consequence. Finally, he spoke, his voice's usual gravity deepening like a chasm flowing with a river of respect, "My family, we hail from the Harima feud. One of the thirteen samurai forced to return to his family is the progenitor of the Saitou line."  
  
Tokio immediately halted. She put the tray down on the low table and pulled herself up to her full height to regard the man leaning on the sliding door. But, her legs felt weak. Tokio's head swam with a surge of thoughts, her understanding of her husband locking into place in an instant. 'His ancestor was not allowed to participate in reclaiming Asano's honor. And every generation since has had to live with this burden, constantly striving to prove that they would have gone to the grave with the other 47 samurai. A terrible curse, this wish to fulfill the duty denied to one samurai. And, the man who lived has passed it on to his children and his children, and finally to my husband.'  
  
'I finally understand his fire,' Tokio thought as she stepped towards her husband, 'And why he feels he can never, ever, stop fighting for the honor of Japan.'  
  
"Teishu..." Tokio whispered. Liquidly, golden eyes focused on Tokio. The young woman raised her hand to touch her husband's neck, tracing the veins and tendons there cautiously, like one might do a particularly skittish animal. But she had to know, know for the moment that the creature before her was real, solid, and not a product of some encroaching insanity.  
  
Saitou did not flinch at her touch. In fact, he did little more than continue to smoke his cigarette, turning his head slightly to exhale away from his wife. Suddenly, the slender woman pressed her face against his chest, throwing her arms around his waist. She clenched him tightly as she murmured, "You're a good man, Saitou Hajime."  
  
Saitou snorted in reply, though the intoxicatingly honeyed scent of his wife combined with the fragrant smell of cigarette smoke was in danger of making him dizzy. Wrapping one arm around his wife's form, he cracked the shoji with the other and tossed his cigarette into the yard.  
  
They stood together for some time, Saitou running his fingers through Tokio's unbound hair, as she breathed quietly against his gi, causing her warmth to seep into his chest.   
  
"Where did you go?" Tokio finally asked, looking up at the sharp features of her husband's face.  
  
"Yare, Tokio, are you sure you want to know?" He pushed some of her inky bangs behind one of her ears, "It isn't pleasant. It will be dangerous for you to know."  
  
"I want to share the burden of that which you must carry. I can't not wield a sword, but unlike Kozue, my mind is strong enough to bear the weight of the execution of your ideals."  
  
Saitou only nodded. He gazed at the ceiling for a few moments, beseeching Okita to forgive him. Then, he forced himself to look his wife straight in the eyes as he told her.  
  
"I executed seventeen of the former samurai with whom I had been working, roughly sixty percent of the entire group. They met my sword, the ones who betrayed our mission for an easy life of corruption and bribes. Their leader was the Captain of the Seventh Shinsengumi troop. He knew I was coming for him and he hired two dozen expert bodyguards. That is how I was injured. But, in the end the bodyguards were for naught. The former Captain, a friend of mine, died by my blade as well."  
  
Retribution for betraying the ideals of the samurai. Death to preserve the honor contained in an idea. The story of the 47 ronin flashed through Tokio's mind. She had no doubt that their spirit lived on in her husband.  
  
"I understand," Tokio whispered, "But, the others...you did not kill?"  
  
"No," Saitou explained, "They had either opposed the dissolution of the group, or were truly leading lives of virtue."  
  
Tokio nodded and then pressed her face once again against Saitou's chest, inhaling deeply. He smelled of cigarettes and metal and sage. She felt his hand rubbing her back softly.  
  
"What is wrong, Kitty?"  
  
"I think I am growing fond of you. And everything I attempt to cherish turns to ash and blows away in the wind."  
  
Saitou clasped the young woman to his body, holding her so tightly he was sure he must be hurting her, but she made no move to escape his embrace. 'Damn. She's grown so precious to me. It annoys me when things happen without careful planning. But, I need her now. I can't send her away. Nagakura was right, the old fool, a good woman stands to rekindle the flame which fuels our fights. Kuso, Tokio, don't give up. I'm going to put things right between us.'  
  
"Tokio, I'm not going to lie. I have to leave again before winter. But, I promise I will return before the new year."  
  
"You have never broken your promises to me, so I will trust in what you say. But, teishu...?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"May I kiss you?"  
  
The fact that she asked made Saitou smirk evilly before replying in a wanton tone, "Aa."  
  
Tokio pushed herself up on her toes, and Saitou suppressed a growl as her body shifted against his own. But, even stretching her legs, Tokio couldn't quite bring herself level to Saitou's towering height. The young woman furrowed her brow in consternation, trying desperately to figure out how to rectify the situation. Her husband, on the other hand, let out a quiet chuckle.  
  
"Is something wrong, Tokio?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow quizzically, taunting her.  
  
"You know exactly what. You're too ta..." Tokio's words were cut off as her husband's head dipped forward and he caught her mouth with his own. Saitou's kiss seemed deceptively demanding for all of its simplicity, barely grazing against her lips. His long bangs brushed against her eyelashes as he pulled away, causing Tokio to blink several times as if the fine hairs rimming her golden eyes were trying to recapture the unintentional caress.  
  
"Do it again," Tokio commanded innocently, the warmth of her whispered breath slithering up the length of her husband's jaw.  
  
"No, Kitty," Saitou replied, firmly pushing his wife away by her shoulders. Saitou cursed inwardly. 'If that happens again, there really will be promises broken. There's enough adrenaline in my veins right now fuel several Bakumatsus. What is she doing to me? I never thought a woman would be able to drive me to the point of losing my composure. I can tell this is going to be a long autumn, with an even longer winter.'  
  
Tokio only stared at her husband unable to comprehend his denial of her request. Trembling slightly, Tokio closed her eyes briefly and then bowed her head. "I see."  
  
'He's only been indulging me. Why, I am not sure. Maybe he thinks that it will make me worry less. Or maybe he thinks that placating me will make his own life easier. Why did I ask to kiss him? I don't love him. No. Love is futile and for idiots. How infuriating he is for making me doubt that.'  
  
Without any more discussion, Tokio picked up her tea tray and headed to the kitchen. Scant minutes later, she blew out the candle in the bedroom crawled into her futon. As she fell asleep, she heard a familiar rustling of newspaper coming from the front room.  
  
And things went back to being as they always were in the Saitou household, as if nothing had ever happened.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime left Osaka for the second time in November of the fifth year of the Meiji era. However, this time, he told his wife goodbye.  
  
"You will not tell me where you are going, at least?" Tokio asked.   
  
"Don't be stupid, Tokio. I'm not going to give you information you can be tortured for later. If you won't think of yourself, at least think of Kozue. He's the one who'd get killed trying to protect you."  
  
"Of course," Tokio murmured absently. She'd spent all morning alternating between trying to figure out how to stuff more food into her husband's saddlebags and trying to decide if she should put something in his morning tea to make him so sick he couldn't leave. She decided against the latter option when she realized he'd only delay his journey if he were dead.  
  
'Whatever it is he is going to do, it must be important to risk traveling in the winter snows.'  
  
Saitou tucked his katana into the ties of his hakama as Tokio brought a bundle in from the other room. "Its your warmest haori. I re-sewed the lining and..."  
  
"Tokio..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Stop making a fuss."  
  
Tokio glared at her husband. He took the haori from her hand and threw it over his shoulder, holding it there with one hooked finger. Saitou's other arm slid around his wife's waist and pulled her close.  
  
"Don't worry, Kitty, it isn't dangerous. Just some documents that need to be handled."  
  
Tokio pressed her ear against her husband's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. No fussing. He was right. Women who cried or made scenes were the worst sorts, only making their husbands doubt and falter, breaking their concentration from the task at hand. Anyway, he had made a promise, and every second she delayed him only meant it would be deeper into the bitter winter when he had to return. Tokio extricated herself from her husband's grasp. She moved to open the sliding door, her head bowed and eyes downcast.  
  
"I will return." Saitou said as he walked past his wife into the brisk autumn air. He forced himself not to stop, not to look at her.   
  
"I will be waiting," Tokio whispered, gently shutting the shoji behind him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The freezing rain had been falling intermittently all afternoon, pelting the grey stones littering the cemetery with shards of slick ice. Fresh and wilting flowers decorating the tombs hung their heads heavily due to the additional weight of the icy water, tiny mourners in the land of the dead. Puddles of water brokenly reflected the stormy sky, only to be shaken from their stilled meditation time and again by a new barrage of raindrops.   
  
In a far corner of the graveyard, a lone man stood under the overhang of a large burial monument, smoking. Saitou Hajime stared into the serene expanse. In the rain, one headstone could not be discerned from another. Death melted into death, person into person. Below the ground, as they decayed, and the flesh naturally stripped itself from the bone and once again returned to the earth, did innocent mingle with guilty? Samurai flow into peasant? Ishin Shishi dance with Shinsengumi?   
  
How many in this place were sent here by his own blade? Would he know them if he saw their graves? Likely not. There was no time to ask the name of every man he cut down. No point in keeping some frivolous tally of the number of men he sent here.   
  
"I must leave before sundown," Saitou said to a headstone. Normally, he didn't talk to dead men. He left that sort of affair to the sentimental or insane. Saitou had never even seen Okita's grave. Okita's family had claimed his body after his death, or so Saitou had heard, burying him far from Kyoto in the town of his birth. But, talking to this particular tombstone seemed right, proper.  
  
"Kyoto is changing," Saitou explained, "All of Japan is changing. But, while a country may decide on different rules, different values, individual men stay the same. So many still remain, with hearts of rot, with minds of greed. It only takes one bad wheel to stop even the best made carriage. Only one malformed brick to topple the most awe-inspiring building."  
  
A rumble of thunder skipped through the heavens in reply.   
  
"Someday, I will bring her here to visit you. Someday when there is no longer any worry of danger from this city, or from this country. Someday when she no longer desires to be by your side. I am not a man who can give your daughter happiness or comfort or safety, Tanagi-san. I am a killer. Nonetheless, I wish her and her alone by my side. She knows my mind, and I know hers. I don't expect you to understand, only to know that your daughter is not alone in this world any longer."  
  
Saitou bowed briefly to the headstones of Tanagi and his wife. He had brought no umbrella, so he walked in the mid-afternoon sleet past the rows and rows of grey and black stones. Names bled into names, becoming a cacophony of identity. But one name, one name stood out in his mind. For some reason, it screamed at him in warning, bringing image after image of his first meeting with Tokio. He tried to shake the visions as he left the cemetery, but couldn't recall where he had heard the name before.  
  
"Himura Tomoe."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou returned to Osaka, late at night, during a break in the snows. Tokio found him in the front room the next morning, ruffling through a pile of documents.  
  
"You've returned," Tokio whispered, pulling her unbound tresses back into a ponytail as she sat at the table. "You should have woken me."  
  
Without looking up from his paperwork, Saitou replied, "Don't be stupid, Tokio. What good would that have done? Besides, it takes an act of government to wake you up."  
  
Tokio poured herself tea and refilled Saitou's cup. "Your trip went well? You are not injured?"  
  
"Aa. Everything is fine."  
  
Saitou took his tea and sipped quietly, still pouring over the papers. After a moment, he let the pile fall on the table and looked up to regard his wife. Wisps of hair escaped her ponytail, framing the face which she leaned into one hand, tiredly. She hadn't yet put on her scarf, causing the mangled scar on her neck to be visible. She wore a deep green yukata of her own creation, still ruffled and wrinkled from her sleep. All in all, she looked pretty far from the vision of a practiced lady. In his mouth, Saitou Hajime's tongue ran along the sharp ridge of his upper teeth. 'Damn. I want to ravish her when she looks like that. Good thing I left that part out when talking to Tanagi-san."  
  
"Tokio?"  
  
"Mmm?" she replied, rousing herself from her half-sleep.  
  
"We're going out tonight. Dress nice."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio stifled the urge to ask her husband where they were going, though if they had to walk much further, she suspected that even her infinite patience might come to an end.   
  
They had taken dinner in town, a definite rarity. Her husband had eaten only soba noodles, at which Tokio scowled. Saitou inquired briefly about Kozue, and Tokio informed him that the young man took to his new duties at the local dojo with pride and zest.  
  
But, after leaving, they had not returned home. Instead, Tokio had been following her silent husband through the streets of Osaka for what seemed like hours, the newly fallen snow crunching under their feet. The entire city lay quiet, hidden away in their homes next to the fires that would protect them from the bitter cold.  
  
Tokio pulled at the ends of her long scarf, wrapping the excess length around her face. She'd worn gloves, at least, and her warmest coat. Her husband's hands, on the other hand, were naked.   
  
They came to a small park, empty in the sunset. The pond that in springtime would attract fishermen and children had frozen over, and the trees sagged under the weight of snow. Tokio felt numbness overtaking her feet as she walked, the hush of the city lulling her to sleep.  
  
"Tokio?" Saitou's voice came from ahead of her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The Miburo came to a stop, but did not turn around. The air in front of him froze into a cloud of white frost as he asked coolly, "How long will you follow me?"  
  
"Until you stop," Tokio whispered. 'What is he asking me? Is this some sort of bizarre test? Teishu doesn't believe in needless cruelty, so there has to be a reason.'  
  
Turning abruptly to face his wife, Saitou Hajime's eyes all but glowed in the setting sun, a window to the controlled fire within. "This is a very lengthy and dangerous road, Tokio. You'd have to be prepared to walk for a long time through the bleakest of surroundings, with a dead winter world all around you. And sometimes, the snow may obscure your view of me. Are you still prepared to walk behind me until I stop?"  
  
Tokio stepped forward until she stood only an arms length from her husband. "I am prepared."  
  
Saitou reached into the front of his gi and removed a folded paper, "Naruhodo. Then you should see this."  
  
The young woman took the paper in her gloved hands and unfolded it. In the dim light, she had to hold it close to her face to make out the text. 'Some sort of document. My maiden name and my father's name, and the seal of the damiyo of Aizu. But, what...this is a marriage document for an arranged marriage, for -my- marriage, but it is dated next month!'  
  
Tokio looked up at her husband, and back at the paper, "I don't understand."  
  
The Wolf of Mibu plucked the document gently from Tokio's hands and placed it back in the front of his gi. "Don't be stupid, Tokio. I'm asking you to marry me."  
  
"But...we're...already..."  
  
Smirking, Saitou grabbed his wife roughly around the waist and pulled her close. "No, Kitty. Marry me this time because you want to, not because your life depends on it. The documents may be false, but the sentiment isn't. You know I can't change the way I live my life, but with you by my side, the way I live my life won't change me. Because I love you, Tokio. Despite myself, I do."  
  
"Yare, you always get what you want, don't you, Hajime?" Tokio answered, looking up at her husband's very serious face. As she said his common name, he grinned devilishly, the sharp points of his pronounced canines making him look ever more like the wolf of his nicknames. "I will marry you."  
  
"Good." Saitou said. He reached up and unwound his wife's thick scarf from her face, causing her to suck air between her teeth in a hiss as the icy wind hit her face. But, before the winter could steal the heat from her lips, Saitou Hajime kissed his wife, tasting her waiting mouth. Where the last kiss had been gentle, this one demanded a lifetime. Tokio felt the cold drain from her body, replaced with a heated craving she expressed by placing her gloved hand on her husband's neck and pulling him closer.   
  
He nipped at her bottom lip, worrying it slightly before growling playfully and catching her mouth again. Tokio laughed into his kiss, causing him to draw away and quirk an eyebrow, daring her to laugh again. Tokio mimicked his expression by raising her own eyebrow, making her husband sneer wickedly before kissing her again.  
  
They stood together long after the sun had set and the stars had begun to cluster in the sky, until Saitou finally asked, "Are you cold, Tokio?"  
  
"No. I am warm. Very warm."  
  
"Good. Lets go home."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
January, Meiji 6.  
  
They were married for the second time in January, in the snow. Like the first time, Saitou and Tokio were the only ones in attendance at their own wedding, having opted not to tell anyone they knew why they were being married again.   
  
The priest of the temple protested greatly at the pair of lovers which demanded to be married in a snowstorm. Such things were highly unorthodox, not to mention probably bad luck. Nonetheless, he decided not to argue too much, since the groom wore a katana, one which he pointedly refused to remove for the ceremony.  
  
Tokio, Saitou decided, looked even lovelier now than she had three years ago. She had put her hair in an intricate upsweep, peppered at points with white beads. The furisode she wore was white at the shoulders, turning to the lightest lavender at her waist, and dark purple towards her feet and at the ends of the long sleeves. She had a dark green obi, with lighter green underpinnings, which matched the long green scarf around her neck. Saitou, on the other hand, opted to wear exactly the same thing he wore the first time, the only difference being the katana at his side.  
  
As they climbed into a carriage to return to their home, the priest of the temple shook his head and returned inside. "Those two are going to be trouble to someone, someday."  
  
"Tokio-neko. We're home," Saitou said. Tokio had fallen asleep in the carriage, her head drooping forward over and over again until her husband had moved gently pulled her head against his shoulder. "Kuso, you're not going to wake up, are you?"  
  
Tokio continued to talk soundlessly in her sleep, unaware that her husband was lifting her out of the carriage and carrying her up the walkway to their home. He found it slightly amusing that he was carrying his bride over the threshold without her knowledge.   
  
He laid her down in the front room for a moment while he took off his snow-covered haori. Tokio's coat would need to be removed, too, he decided, before the snow could melt and soak into her skin. Grunting slightly at the idea of the task, Saitou kneeled down and pulled his wife upwards, sliding her arms out of the heavy coat she had put on after the ceremony.   
  
"Eh?" Tokio murmured, finally waking. Quietly, she looked around, identifying her surroundings. "I fell asleep."  
  
"You sleep enough for both of us, Kitty."  
  
"I..." Tokio sat up, pulling herself away from her husband who, she realized, had been removing her coat. She peered at him for a few moments, a mysterious expression on her face. With a smirk, Tokio asked, "Would you like tea, Hajime?"  
  
It was the same thing she had asked him upon returning home the first time they were married, with one small difference. Saitou chuckled lowly and his voice grew needful as he murmured into her ear, "Aa, that would be agreeable."  
  
Tokio returned with the tea minutes later, placing it on the table for her waiting husband. They drank the warm liquid in silence, having never needed much conversation between them. But, this time, Saitou watched his wife the entire time. Tokio felt not unlike a mouse being stalked by a rather voracious hawk.  
  
"Tokio, I hope you're not overly fond of this tea set." Saitou said, putting his empty cup on the table.   
  
Before Tokio could even ponder the statement, her husband lunged at her, overturning the small table and the rest of the tea, causing and unknown amount of damage to the dinnerware. The young bride found herself pinned in a sitting position against the wall. Saitou leaned on one hand as he attacked his wife with his kiss. Tokio, surprised, at first pushed herself against the wall, but then found that her hands disagreed with this sentiment as they slid up the back of her husband's neck and pulled roughly at his hair in an attempt to remove his hair tie.   
  
This accomplished, Tokio ran her fingers through his hair as they kissed, until finally, both parties broke away, desperately needing air. Brows furrowed in the same intense concentration used in battle, Hajime used his free hand to undo the knot in Tokio's scarf, pulling the expanse of silk away from her skin to reveal her scar. This too, demanded his attention, and he ran his tongue over the fragile flesh, causing Tokio to squirm beneath him.  
  
Tokio's breath caught as Saitou ran the tips of his canines along her scar, down her neck, and over a bit of exposed collarbone. In retaliation, Tokio deftly slid her hands into the front of her husband's gi, pushing it open enough to allow her to rake her fingernails down his sides eliciting a mild howl from the other combatant.   
  
"Bad, bad, Kitty," came the growl, "You'll pay for that."  
  
"We'll see. You may be the greatest swordsman in all Japan, but in this affair, you're completely ordinary," Tokio replied, removing one hand to tug at the pins in her hair.  
  
"Why you..."   
  
As ebony plaits unfolded and cascaded over his wife's shoulders, Saitou's eyes narrowed and he lunged again, pinning Tokio's wrist against the wall as he kissed her. Tokio's only free hand snaked up to his chin, which she pulled to the side allowing her to nip at her husband's jaw line and run her tongue along the outer edge of his ear.   
  
Tokio heard her husband mutter dark curses as he undid the elaborate knots of her obi, one-handed. To distract him, Tokio bent her knee upwards and ran it along the outside of his thigh. She thought she had succeeded in causing him to lose his place, as her husband stopped trying to untie her obi for a moment, until she realized he was grabbing a sharp piece of broken teacup. Expertly, he slid it twice over the silk, tearing the obi enough to allow him to rip the rest of the material away.  
  
"I...liked...that...obi," Tokio hissed, trying to struggle against her pinned wrist.  
  
"Too bad," Saitou chuckled, "You shouldn't taunt a Miburo."  
  
"I'll have revenge."  
  
"I don't doubt it," her husband murmured, already turning his attention to her breast bindings, which turned out to be far easier to remove than the obi. Tokio, on the other hand, used her unimprisoned hand to untie Saitou's gi. Her fingers deftly traced the well-defined muscles of his abdomen, discovering the various scars there.  
  
Tokio felt the air hit her skin as Hajime pulled away the strips of binding. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly over her skin, tracing a path from her collarbone, over one exposed breast, to her stomach. His eyes flickered away from his wife's face when his fingers found the raised line of flesh on the bottom curve of her stomach that extended outward to her hip.  
  
"My scar?" Saitou asked, releasing Tokio's wrist suddenly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
For the first time, Tokio thought she saw a touch of sadness tinge her husband's eyes. He bent his head kissed the edge of the wound his own sword had placed on her body. When he looked at her again, his face had once again been locked into sober consternation.   
  
"I'm sorry, Tokio."  
  
"I'm not," she replied, placing her hand on the side of his neck, "I have one scar for losing everything, and one for finding it again. But you...we...we have to be careful..."  
  
"Yes, I know, but we don't have to do this...if you don't want..."   
  
Tokio smiled broadly as she delivered a perfect imitation of her husband, "Don't be stupid, Hajime. Besides, I haven't had my revenge yet."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Yare, yare, Kitty, where'd you learn all that?" Saitou drawled, his free hand running slowly up the spine of the naked woman draped over him. His other hand held a cigarette which he had been smoking in silence for the past few minutes.  
  
Tokio lifted her head off his chest and glared at him, "Aunt Junpei and her friends weren't really futon-makers."  
  
"They didn't make you..."  
  
"No," Tokio replied, resting her head again, "Though they tried a few times."  
  
"Naruhodo, too bad I don't kill women."  
  
Tokio laughed, her body trembling slightly against his, as her breath skittered across his chest, "At this rate, you just might. You had a pretty good battle cry, though."  
  
Saitou chuckled, "Aa. To go along with my Gatotsu."  
  
Tokio rolled her eyes. If she could have groaned, she would have. "That is a -very- bad joke, Hajime."  
  
"If you win, you get to tell bad jokes."  
  
"You didn't win."  
  
"Yes I did."  
  
"No, you didn't."  
  
Saitou ran one finger along the inside of his wife's forearm. "Yare, yare, then I guess we'll have to have a rematch to find out."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In the next chapter: War brings change, and the couple leaves Osaka. A strange woman keeps showing up at the Saitou residence, and Hajime is visited by a ghost from the past.   
  
As always, thank you for your reviews. I hope you enjoy the story!  
  
Historical Notes:  
  
As stated in the first chapter, Hajime and Tokio, according to official documents, were married in the 6th year of Meiji, the go-between for their marriage being the damiyo of Aizu. And, according to our story, those documents aren't as official as they look. *smirk*  
  
According to my research, there is some contention about which style Saitou actually used, and whether it was "pure" or partially invented of his own skill. I opt for "Mugai Ryu", one of the styles it has been suggested he used, but in our story, Saitou has modified it heavily.  
  
The story of the 47 ronin is probably known by a good percentage of anime fans, but I thought I would include it, just in case. According to my research, Saitou's family was part of the "Hakima Feud", but this isn't really explained. Since the ronin were from the Hakima province, I'm thinking the leap of logic isn't too far to stretch. My source for the information on the 47 ronin is: http://kenwakai.org/paburo/chuushingura.htm 


	5. Chapter 5: The Seinan Wars

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 5 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The year is Meiji 9, three years since the second time Saitou Hajime and Tokio were married for the second time. Saitou Hajime is 34, and Tokio has just had her 22nd birthday. Currently, the couple still lives in Osaka, where Saitou works as a kendo instructor for a local University. Tokio works part time as a cook for a middle-class restaurant.  
  
Life has been relatively quiet, with Saitou leaving only a few times in the past three years to attend to various business.  
  
If Okita Souji were alive, he would be 32.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hunting prey. An engaging task if the prey was clever, alert, dangerous. But, this hunt, well this was just ridiculous. Degrading, even. But, it had to be done. Tokio was going to be...well, not furious. Tokio didn't get furious. Upset? No. Worried. She'd be incredibly worried.  
  
The man known to his students as 'Fujita-sensei' leaned against the wide oak tree in the lawn in front of the school, one knee bent to rest his foot on the trunk. All around him, students walked in groups, their studies being done for the day. And why not? They were going to happy homes to enjoy big dinners, ignorant of the trouble brewing in the south of their country, ignorant of the fact that their Meiji era was threatened even at this very instant.  
  
"Hai, I've got to hurry home! Why don't you stop by and...urk..."  
  
The student in question ran into an incredibly wiry obstacle of flesh. The next moment, he found himself being lifted into the air by the collar of his gi, staring into the feral eyes of the most feared instructor on campus.  
  
"F...Fujita-sensei!"   
  
"You something I require, Rosuu," the instructor snapped. His eyes narrowed as he added, "I'd recommend obedience."  
  
A half-hour later, Rosuu watched in fear as Fujita Goro left the front yard of his house, a small box under his arm. He felt a small tug on the leg of his hakama and looked down to see his five year old sister with tears in her eyes.  
  
"Scary man!!" Besuki cried as she pointed at the retreating Miburo, "Scary man!!"  
  
Scooping his sister up into his arms, the teenager said quietly, "That's just Fujita-sensei, Besuki. He's alright. I'm sure the kitten will be just fine."  
  
'Though, I do have to wonder what exactly sensei wants with a kitten,' Rosuu wondered, 'He's so damn creepy, I wouldn't even be surprised if he boiled the cat and -ate- it.'  
  
"Come on, Besuki, we have three more kittens. We have to find them good homes," Rosuu said to his sister. As he headed into their house he added silently, 'Before that evil man comes back and wants another one.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio smiled minutely at the woman sitting beside her. Tokio never thought she would meet a person more good-natured than Kozue. That is until she met Kozue's fiancee and later wife.  
  
Narajirou Kume radiated happiness. In fact, Tokio felt somewhat certain that even if you told Kume the world would end in a plague of boils and hellfire the next day, Kume would only blink and say, "My, my, my. S'that so? Foo, and I was going to air out the futons tomorrow, tra-la-la."   
  
In short, Kume and Kozue were a perfect match.   
  
"Are you hungry, Kume?" Tokio whispered, as she pulled out a misplaced stitch, "I brought home some spice cake from the restaurant this morning."  
  
"Oh me, Tokio-san, Kume isn't hungry, but baby is a bit peckish," the young woman replied, patting her growing stomach. "Sometimes I wonder if there's a bear growing in there, tra-la-la." Kume broke into a fit of giggles for the umpteenth time that day.   
  
Tokio only shook her head at the sight of the carefree eighteen year old sitting in her front room. She'd taken to looking after Kozue's pregnant wife in the afternoons until Kozue finished his day at the dojo. Though, Tokio really couldn't decide if she did it because the girl was pregnant and had no other family to look after her, or because Kume actually seemed stupid enough to set fire to half of Osaka in a failed attempt to cook rice.  
  
"Oh Kume," Tokio whispered when she was out of earshot, heading for the kitchen, "You really are simple. In another life, would I have been more like you? And what about Hajime? If not for the Bakumatsu, would he have been more like Kozue? Well. No. It is really too silly to think about 'what-ifs'."  
  
By the time Tokio returned with the cake, Kume was laying on her back, staring at the ceiling and humming.   
  
"Eh...uh...Tokio-san. I was wondering, why haven't you and Saitou-san ever had children?" Kume asked, taking a small piece of cake as she labored to sit up, and then another one, just for good measure.   
  
Tokio felt a chill run up her spine as she set the plate down on the nearby table. "Our life has been no place for children," Tokio replied quietly. "But, perhaps...someday..."  
  
Before Tokio could finish her statement, the front shoji opened and Saitou stepped inside, Kozue behind him.  
  
"Oh, look. It is eating again," Saitou observed coolly, dropping his things onto the table and walking into the back hallway. He returned moments later without his bokken, his katana strapped to his side instead. A law had been passed that year declaring the wearing of swords in public to be illegal. It was a law that elicited many spirited nighttime discussions between Hajime and Kozue, for it was a rare point upon which they vehemently disagreed.   
  
Once, Hajime had even thrown Kozue out of the Saitou house over the subject.  
  
"Get out. You are a traitor to everything for which your father fought."  
  
"Sensei, please listen," Kozue had pleaded, "A samurai's spirit can be just as strong, with or without a sword..."  
  
"Then when chaos comes again, if you can protect that rabbit-girl of yours with just your spirit, then I will heed your words. Until then, I will remain convinced that you are too ignorant and innocent to understand anything about what it means to follow the way of the samurai. Now, get out of my house, before I am forced to brawl with you in front of my wife."  
  
After that, Saitou and Kozue hadn't spoken for weeks, as far as Tokio could tell. Then, one day out of the blue, things returned to normal. Tokio never asked her husband, but suspected a great deal of groveling on Kozue's part. Or, it might have had something to do with the discovery that Kume was pregnant. Either way, Tokio noticed the two men pointedly avoided the subject at all times.  
  
In the front room, Kume nibbled on her spice cake greedily. She did, indeed, act rather like a rabbit. Of course, Tokio's husband was the only one who would point it out. His penchant for nicknaming the women in his world after animals always brought a small smile to Tokio's face.  
  
"Kume, darling, uh...perhaps you shouldn't eat quite so much cake, hmm? You'll, um, spoil your dinner." Kozue nudged the plate piled with sweets on the table away from his wife.  
  
"Ah, tra-la-la, don't be a big meanie, anata. 'Sides, I have to walk home and phew, its a long walk. Ohhhh, maybe Tokio-san will let me take a piece along. Oh, oh, you should have one too." With that declaration, Kume shoved a piece of cake in her husband's mouth. She laughed heartily, holding her stomach.  
  
Kozue chewed slowly and swallowed loudly before sighing and standing to help his wife to her feet. "Come on, Kume. Lets go home before we annoy sensei and Tokio-san, mmm?"  
  
"Hai, fa-la-la!"  
  
As Tokio shut the sliding door behind the pair, her husband sat at the table and lit up a cigarette. "I can't believe those two are breeding."  
  
"It is hard to imagine Kume as someone's mother," Tokio replied, "But, I think Kozue will make a good father, when he figures it out. I'm excited for them."  
  
"Are you?" the Miburo raised one eyebrow at his wife. "It is rare for you to get excited about anything, Tokio." Peering lustfully at Tokio he included, "Yare, anything much."  
  
"I like children, actually. Often, I took care of Aunt Junpei's kids. Even though they lived in such a horrible place, and with such a horrible woman, they always smiled. Children have no recollection of a past, so they always believe a brighter future is just around the corner."  
  
"Ah, Kitty, were you ever a child?"   
  
"Were you?" Tokio asked, tilting her head slightly as she sat down beside her husband.   
  
"Touche."  
  
They sat in silence for some time, each delicately contemplating their own private thoughts. Outside, the spring cicadas chirped rhythmically, heralding the dawning spring. Their song was interrupted only briefly by the whinny of the horse that Tokio and Kume had long since named "Stormy". Finally, Tokio spoke.  
  
"Shall I heat your bath, Hajime?"  
  
"No," he replied, putting out his cigarette. "Tokio, I have something serious I need to talk to you about."  
  
"Oh?" Tokio whispered, lowering her eyes, "I have something to tell you as well. But, please, continue."  
  
Saitou stood. He walked to the shoji and opened it, letting the still cool air of early springtime brush into the house. His left shoulder leaning against the post, he gazed into the courtyard for some time before crossing his arms and beginning to speak.  
  
"There is trouble in the south. Saigo Takamori has rebelled against the government. He has many, many supporters, almost all samurai and descendants of samurai. I've been asked to go and help command a katana-wielding police force to prevent the violence from getting out of hand."  
  
Tokio sat up straight. This was altogether unlike the other times he had left, she could tell. First, he was actually telling her where he was going beforehand. And second...  
  
"You will fight opposing the samurai?"  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, his voice unwaveringly certain. "Merely because one has samurai blood doesn't mean you understand the ideals behind your birthright. These men aren't fighting to protect the way of the samurai. They are fighting for blind revenge, for anger. Revenge is no foundation for a government. I may find the Meiji government distasteful, but an equally or more corrupt one would be no good."  
  
Tokio's posture slumped slightly. 'He will go again. I must not try to stop him. That is my promise to him, to support him in whatever he thinks must be done. To follow patiently on whatever road he chooses. But, why now? This time it will be so much harder than the others to watch him leave. I must be strong and I...I can't tell him. Ah, Hajime, I just can't tell you now.'  
  
"I understand. I will wait patiently for you to return."  
  
Saitou turned to face his wife, attempting to read her face. But, Tokio's long bangs fell forward, obscuring her eyes.   
  
"What did you want to tell me, Tokio?"  
  
Tokio looked up suddenly, shaken from her thoughts. She needed to think of something, and quickly, something he would believe. Digging an unseen fingernail into the palm of her curled hand, she forced herself to remain emotionless while in the piercing gaze of her husband.  
  
"Your smoking," Tokio whispered finally, "I wish to ask you to do it out of doors."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hn," was the only audible reply. But, internally, Saitou scowled as he turned to look once again at the pinks and purples of the pre-twilight sky. 'Yare, yare. So, Tokio has taken up lying to me. This ought to be interesting. She should know better than to try to hide secrets from the Wolf of Mibu. What are you hiding, eh Kitty?'  
  
His nickname for his wife reminded him of the package which had been sitting on the porch. 'Damn. -That- thing. What the hell was I thinking?"  
  
Saitou stepped out onto the engawa and picked up the small box. The creature inside let out a small mew. The lanky man stepped back into the front room and placed the box on the table in front of his small wife, who looked at him questioningly.  
  
"I'm going to bathe."   
  
Without any further words, Saitou left his wife sitting alone. Tokio pulled her self closer to the table, and was startled by a faint noise from within the wooden box. Undoing a leather tie, Tokio opened it. Inside, a kitten with downy midnight fur stared up at her new mistress.  
  
"Mew."  
  
Despite her overwhelming worry and sadness at her husband's departure, Tokio laughed her silent laugh, her whole body vibrating with mirth.  
  
It was true. Her husband wasn't necessarily a kind or compassionate man. But, at least sometimes, he had a pretty good sense of humor.  
  
"I think I will call you Snowflake," Tokio said, picking up the tiny animal and walking to kitchen. She stroked the cat's black fur gently, "A funny name for a funny gift, hm? Everyone will ask why I named a black cat after snowy whiteness."  
  
Tokio sat the kitten down next to a bowl of food and watched it eat for a few seconds. A mischievous gleam reflected in her eye as she turned and stalked down the hallway towards the bathhouse.  
  
'Saitou Hajime, you'll get no sleep tonight,' Tokio thought to herself, 'And no reprieve from teasing for the rest of your living days.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Seinan wars contained their share of bloodshed, but nothing like Kyoto during the Bakumatsu. Saitou had left Osaka in April, and by the end of summer, things were already winding down. A few scattered holdout forces remained, but nothing of consequence.  
  
So, when his superior asked him to kill one of Saigo Takamori's assistants, Saitou didn't hesitate. Already they were eliminating the higher-ups of the enemy power structure, and soon it would collapse.   
  
He went in the night, stealing onto the grounds soundlessly during a windy interlude. The whole affair reminded Saitou greatly of the efficient and deadly Hitokiri Battousai. That man had lived in the shadows, often killing his prey before they could even scream. The Shinsengumi, however, preferred to attack en masse. Or, they would challenge an opponent openly to a duel, killing them anyway for cowardice should they refuse.  
  
However, Saitou Hajime didn't always have this luxury. To protect the men of the Shinsengumi, he'd been asked to kill spies and traitors several times. And to keep the men from fearing decay from within the group, he'd often had to do it in secrecy.   
  
The man known as Daisetsu owned a fairly expansive house, not quite a mansion, but certainly upper class. He had a only two night guards. More, Saitou knew, would cause suspicion. This man was supposed to merely be a well-off retired samurai who spent his days in intellectual pursuits. Why would such a man need a large force of guards, unless he were hiding something?  
  
Daisetsu's bedroom, however, proved a bit harder to find than the Miburo had expected. After searching three different empty rooms, Saitou finally found the correct one. Thankfully, Daisetsu's wife had been sent away earlier in the year for her own protection, and there would be no need to worry about her screams.  
  
The man who lay on the futon, a wrinkled septuagenarian with very little pepper left in his salt and pepper hair, snored loudly as Hajime approached. Swiftly killing the old man in his peaceful sleep seemed the best the Wolf of Mibu could offer in respect of Daisetsu's ability to live such a long life.   
  
Drawing his sword, Saitou held his breath as he listened to the crisp tone of the katana leaving the sheath. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. The blood in his veins turned arctic. Something was wrong with the room, terribly wrong.  
  
Click.  
  
Saitou spin to meet his attacker, his sword arching towards the precise location of the noise. Upon contact with the sword, the object was pulled downwards. Unfortunately, while such a move would have blocked a weapon such as a katana or kodachi, it had the opposite affect on this weapon. It caused the hand holding the gun to contract, and shoot Saitou in the leg.  
  
The Miburo stumbled backwards as the old man in the nearby futon sprung to life. His savior, a young man no older than Kozue, began to call out.  
  
"Run, grandfather! Run!"  
  
Saitou snarled as he tried to ignore the pain in his leg. 'I'm going to kill my informant for leaving out the part about the grandson.' Adrenaline coming to his rescue, Saitou lunged forward with his upper body. He hadn't even realized that he had taken a makeshift Gatotsu stance when he had been shot. Bringing the thrust forward with all of the might of his torso, he skewered the young man immediately. The move so surprised Saitou that he hesitated a moment before he turned to limp towards the old man now cowering in the corner of the room.   
  
"Please don't kill me, I can give you money, anything you want, anything. Information, anything. I'll give you anything."  
  
"Give me the satisfaction of knowing I have completed my mission," Saitou replied, his voice low and sonorous. He killed the man swiftly, slicing him from temple to jaw with a single stroke. Pulling the sword from the man's head, Saitou flicked his left wrist absently, cleaning the blade with his sharp movement.   
  
His leg began to throb horribly as he tore a piece of the futon's blanket to compose a makeshift bandage. It wouldn't do to leave a trail of blood as he left the property.   
  
'Kuso, guns hurt like a bitch.'  
  
As he stepped over the young dead gunslinger, Saitou clicked his tongue and muttered, "Ahou, didn't anyone ever tell you? You never bring a gun to a swordfight when a Wolf of Mibu is involved. Idiot."  
  
As he left the premises, however, Saitou Hajime didn't feel altogether too annoyed. At least the kid had helped him to perfect the zero-stance Gatotsu. Perfect a move that would rival a point-blank rifle blast to the chest. A sly technique, possibly uncounterable, and massively effective.  
  
Until he remembered, "Shit. I got injured. Tokio is going to be angry."  
  
And -that- thought annoyed him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Osaka, the magnificent City of Water, situated on a sparkling bay, once shone above Japan with her picturesque temples and palaces. But, as Saitou Hajime returned to the city Nobunga Oda once called "The best place in Japan", all he could see were the hideous western-style houses that had been set up for foreign immigrants, Plumes of smoke wafted from the city's new industrial factories. What had once been a pinnacle of education, medicine, and the arts had already begun a slow descent into the grotesque banality of progress.  
  
Saitou walked through the streets towards his home. He's actually been released from his duties three weeks previous, but had spent the entire time gritting his teeth while forcing his leg to heal, willing himself to walk properly, rebuilding his muscles. 'Thank whatever benevolent Kami that my knee wasn't been shattered by that impudent moron,' he grumbled to himself.  
  
Finally arriving at the little house upon the hill, Saitou opened the front gate. Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. The air in the yard smelled sticky and moldy, as if coated in the scent of death and sadness. The small garden in front of the house lay unkempt, littered with weeds and rusting tools. Someone had taken black paint to several of the outer shoji, coating them in a slapdash manner, half-finishing the job. And several of the trees had large chunks taken out of their trunks, as if someone had begun to chop them down and then lost interest.  
  
Saitou tried to sense his wife, to find out if she was even here, but stopped when Kozue slid open the front shoji and stepped out onto the engawa. Hopping down, the young man approached the other figure standing in the courtyard.  
  
"Sensei..." Kozue began, his voice seeming tight in his throat, "I tried to write, but no one would tell me where you were stationed..."  
  
"What has happened here, Kozue? Where is my wife?"  
  
"She's inside, but..." Kozue stopped and closed his eyes for a moment as the loose folds of his blue gi flapped in the breeze, "Tokio isn't well."  
  
"Tokio is ill." Saitou said, believing he had found the answer to the confusion.  
  
"Physically, she's -should- be fine now, but she doesn't seem to be. And, mentally..." Kozue shifted his weight and searched the ground with his eyes for an easier way to tell his sensei the news. "Tokio was pregnant when you left for the Seinan War. But, unfortunately, she lost the child about a month and a half ago. Things have been very bad since then. We weren't sure she was going to make it, sensei. She won't eat, won't leave the house, hardly says a word. She just sleeps."  
  
Kozue told Saitou the whole story. How they came over one day to find Tokio in a pool of her own blood, the miscarried child wrapped in Tokio's sewing basket. After that, Tokio hadn't cried, hadn't spoken, she only stared into space, almost catatonic. They had come over every day to bring Tokio food and to have Kume help her bathe. Once, they had found her in the yard, fruitlessly trying to chop down the trees with an axe, mumbling something about 'extinguishing all the remaining life'. Another time, they found that Tokio had splashed black paint on the exterior of the house. Things had gotten so bad that Kozue had asked his mother to come stay with Kume and their new child so that he could keep constant watch on Tokio.  
  
Hajime's lips set into their patent frown as his pupils contracted, leaving his eyes a syrupy amber. Although his exterior remained calm, focused on what Kozue had been telling him, his gut felt like it had been shredded with a steel claw. What could he do? Even if she had told him, he wouldn't have stayed. And, even if he had stayed, it wouldn't have prevented her from losing the child. Yet his mind turned the situation over and over. If she hadn't lied, if only she had told him, he could have planned...something. 'Stubborn woman. Damn stubborn woman.'  
  
After Kozue finished his explanation, Saitou said, "Go home to your wife, Kozue. I'll see to Tokio."  
  
Kozue only nodded and started for the gate. He stopped walking when his sensei included darkly, "Congratulations. You have a son?"  
  
"Eh? Oh. No. A daughter, Fujiko." Kozue said without turning around, his voice clouded with the sadness that the other man would not express. What odd ways the world had, giving one man a healthy wife and child, and depriving another of both.  
  
Saitou said nothing to this, and the two men parted without further discussion.  
  
Entering his house, Hajime began to search for Tokio. He found her moments later in their bedroom, sleeping. Or, rather, she appeared to be asleep. Her eyes were closed and her face placid. But, his Tokio always talked in her sleep, moving her mouth and making odd facial expressions. This person, this person could have been dead. And, her ki seemed completely dormant, undiscernable and unreachable.   
  
Saitou removed his sword and leaned it against the outer wall. Kneeling beside his wife, he placed one hand on the side of her neck. 'Even her pulse seems weak,' he thought. He examined her skin for a moment, finding the pallor unnatural and translucent. Sickly. Too sickly, even for depression or insanity. 'Damn it, Tokio. I know what you've been doing. Did you really think I would be fooled?'  
  
The man stood and peered around the room. He knew he wouldn't be able to find his quarry by merely searching visually. Tokio would be too clever for that. He'd have to smell it out, faint though it may be. Saitou ran through the list of aromas which belonged in the room. Blood was the first to his nose, that would be his sword. Cigarette smoke, again a scent of his own, as well as the sage he used when bathing. Then Tokio's smells, the fragile bouquet of honey and sugar, of fired wood from the stove. Past this, he recognized the fragrances of the room, the cat he had given her, the acrid scent of paper and the musky smell of wood blended with the perfume of light incense Tokio sometimes used.  
  
And then he caught it, ever so slight, a bitterness covered by the smell of almond and mixed with the piquant odor of fruit. Once he could recognize the distinct aroma, it didn't take long to find the actual object. Pulling away a section of paper hanging between overlapping shojis, he discovered a small bundle wrapped in white cloth tied with a blue ribbon. Inside, he found what he expected, a handful of orange candies. The Miburo scowled deeply as he secreted them inside his gi and kneeled back down beside his wife.   
  
"Tokio," he said firmly, hoping that for once he'd be able to wake his sleeping wife. In compliance, two golden eyes opened, but they refused to focus. For Saitou, they seemed far too much like the eyes of every man just before they took their last breath. "Tokio, look at me."  
  
As she slowly seemed to become a bit more aware of her surroundings, Tokio whispered something too quiet even for Hajime to hear. "You're going to have to speak louder Tokio. Tell me again."  
  
"Go away, Kozue," she whispered, "Let me sleep."  
  
Hajime exhaled through his teeth. 'Goddamnit, already whatever she's been taking has begun to blind her, dull her senses, and obviously weakened her to nigh the point of death. Damn, damn, damn. Stupid, stubborn, impudent Kitty. I am so goddamned angry with you right now. How could you break your promise to me? And Kozue, how could you not notice what the hell was going on here?'  
  
"I'm not Kozue. And you are not going back to sleep."  
  
Tokio's right arm flinched slightly and then began to move upwards, searching for the person right in front of her. But, after only a few inches, she gave up, letting her arm fall back to her side. "Teishu..."  
  
"Aa."  
  
"No, you're not back yet. You have to stay gone because..." Tokio trailed off, her face corpselike. After a second she stated, "You're not really here anyway. It doesn't matter. Let me sleep."  
  
"Why, Tokio? Why do I have to stay gone?" his resonant voice demanded.  
  
Tokio closed her eyes as she rasped, "I don't want my husband to see me. Now, please, whomever you are, let me sleep. It hurts to be awake."  
  
"You're really pissing me off, Tokio.   
  
Hajime knew it was a good thing that his anger at the situation overwhelmed all other emotions. Anger would prepare him, push him into battle mode, clear his mind, force the necessary calmness he needed to function. Without it, the gnawing pain growing in the depths of his chest would very likely overtake rational thought. The word 'panic' did not exist in the vocabulary of Saitou Hajime. He needed a plan. Yes. Nothing could defeat him if he had a good plan.  
  
'First, I have to get her to eat, to start to flush whatever godforsaken toxin she's been putting in her body. After that, I can work on her mind."  
  
Tokio already appeared to be asleep again. The sinewy man by her side leaned, scooping up his wife easily and standing. Even with his leg still healing, he had no trouble carrying the young woman out onto the engawa. In health, she had always been lean, but now his young wife seemed positively waiflike in his arms. He knelt and placed Tokio in a sitting position, her head lolling obscenely to the side. Saitou disappeared back into the house and returned moments later with a plum and a small knife, as well as a cup of water.   
  
"Tokio, wake up," he persuaded stolidly, sitting in front of the sleeping woman. Her eyes opened slowly and winced at the intake of afternoon light.   
  
"Go away," Tokio whimpered in her breathy voice. "Please leave me be."  
  
"Like hell I will," Saitou muttered, pressing the knife into the flesh of the plum. Pulling away a bit of the orange colored pulp, he leaned towards Tokio, "Eat this Tokio."  
  
Tokio only turned her head away from his hand apathetically, refusing the food.  
  
"Are you going to disobey your husband, Tokio?"  
  
"He's gone," Tokio replied, her head nodding forward, "Gone to war. I don't want..."  
  
"Damnit, I'm here, Kitty. Now, don't be stupid. Eat this," Saitou demanded.  
  
Tokio appeared to stop breathing for a moment. Her eyes flickered back and forth, left to right, as if trying to see through an impenetrable fog.   
  
Finally, she whispered, "Hajime?"  
  
'She recognizes me. Good. Good, Kitty.' Minor relief washed over Saitou as he drawled, "Aa. I'm home. And I am very angry with you. Now, eat for me, hm?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes. You will." Saitou grabbed his wife's chin and pushed the fruit between her lips. Grotesquely, Tokio let the unchewed flood slide back out and drool down her chin. As he removed his fingers, he realized that her paper-thin skin had already begun to discolor and bruise from his moderate touch.   
  
'I'm not going to be able to force her to eat. There has to be another way. She has to want to eat. But, how? I need...leverage.'  
  
And then, an idea entered Saitou's mind that he knew would work.  
  
"This knife is extremely sharp, Tokio. You should know that. It is one of your very favorite kitchen knives. Now, I'm pretty good with blades of all sorts. But, if I am worried about you not eating, I might get distracted while cutting this fruit."  
  
Tokio looked up quickly, blinking blindly into the overwhelming light as she whispered, "You wouldn't."  
  
"Will you eat, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
Hajime's frown grew even more intense. "Well, then I will just have a piece for myself." He waited until the courtyard was devoid of sound and pushed the blade against the plum with his thumb, moving his index finger in the way on purpose. As he sliced, the blade serrated the edge of his finger, causing a few drops of blood to flow from the cut over his fingernails and onto the wooden porch.   
  
Saitou glared knowingly at his wife, wondering how much she could actually see, "Damn. That hurt. Well, nothing to do by try again until I slice this plum properly. Hope I don't cut off my finger next time."  
  
"Don't." Tokio's lips trembled as she spoke, "I'll eat."  
  
"Good choice, Kitty."  
  
That afternoon, Tokio only ate about half of a plum. The next day, she ate an entire fruit. Saitou kept her on the porch for much of the day, wishing to keep an eye on his wife while he repaired the damaged shojis and cleaned the yard.   
  
On the third day, he spent most of the morning doing kata. He needed to make sure that his leg had healed and was trustworthy. Plus, Saitou assumed, the outside air did Tokio much more good than staying in bed all day, even if she often fell asleep on the porch. She'd eaten a bit of breakfast this morning, some squash-flavored soba. Nonetheless, though she appeared to be getting physically stronger, her attitude and aura didn't change one iota. Mostly, she just stared blankly into space and refused to respond to anything he said.  
  
Visions of his wife laying in a pool of her own blood kept invading Saitou's thoughts as he ran through his moves. Tokio sickly pale, her light green yukata soaked through with crimson. Her ebony hair coagulating with clots of sickness. Their stillborn child already decomposing in her basket, returning to nothingness.  
  
Saitou noticed that he had completely stopped moving, losing his place in his kata. Damn. Something had to give. He could tell that Tokio's apathy for existance, her overwhelming death wish was sucking him in. If she couldn't be made better, he'd be consumed as well, eventually being made useless. So far, he'd been able to keep the gnawing disturbance at bay, but with every hour it grew harder to stay focused.   
  
Guilt, a completely foreign entity to the Miburo, was trying to take up residence in his soul. Even all the men he had killed could not bring him to indulge such an emotion. Guilt was a plague to be guarded against at all times, one bringing doubt and ultimately destruction.  
  
Sheathing his sword, Saitou turned his head to check on Tokio.  
  
He found her missing from the porch.  
  
'Where did you run off to, hm Kitty?'  
  
Using his superior tracking skills, he padded silently into the house, sneaking around corners and between open sliding doors until he found her. The bedroom.  
  
Inside, Tokio crawled forward slowly, using every ounce of her newly regained strength to propel herself. She stopped in front of the double shoji where she had hidden her poisoned sweets, and fumbled to pull back the rice paper. Reaching her hand inside to feel for the object, Tokio seemed oblivious to the man standing behind her.  
  
"Are you looking for something, Tokio?" Saitou asked, crossing his arms.  
  
The muscles in Tokio's back all shuddered simultaneously as she craned her neck to view her husband. "I..."  
  
"For this, perhaps?" Saitou took the tiny bundle of poisoned sweets out of his gi.  
  
Tokio sat up on her knees, steadying herself with one hand. Although her back was to her husband, she could nonetheless imagine his facial expression, knit into concentration and dismay.  
  
"Yes. May I have them?" Tokio whispered, attempting to make the request sound as innocent as possible.  
  
"Don't imagine me as oblivious as Kozue, Tokio. I know what you've been doing. Did you think that if you killed yourself slowly, we would all just think you died of internal injuries and sadness?"  
  
Tokio felt a sob catch in her throat. "I didn't...I couldn't have you think..."  
  
Hajime knelt down behind his wife, his knees on either side of the slender ankles and calves folded behind her. He slid one arm under hers, wrapping it around, his hand coming to rest on her stomach. With his other arm he encircled her upper-chest, placing his hand on the hollow of her collarbone. Tokio went rigid at his touch, resisting human contact. He leaned in and spoke quietly but firmly in Tokio's ear, hoping to imprint the words on her mind. "You didn't want me to hate you for committing suicide. But, it your heart hurt so much, and you couldn't see any other way to relieve the pain. But, I will, Tokio. If you leave me like that, I will hate you forever. I will curse your name. I will spit on your grave."  
  
"How did you know?" Tokio asked, trembling as a tear dropped from her eye and fell on her husband's hand.  
  
"I just know you, Tokio," he replied.   
  
"I killed it," Tokio said, her timid whisper tinged with fear, "I killed our child. I killed it with my thoughts of happiness. I wanted it too much, so it was taken away."  
  
"No. No, Kitty. It isn't your fault. Just your injury, that's all. If the fault lays with anyone, it is me. My wounding you, my leaving you here. Forgive me, Tokio, forgive me for bringing nothing but hurt to your life."  
  
"I can not forgive you for something that is untrue, Hajime."   
  
They sat together for some time, Saitou's firm chest pressed against his wife's back. After a while, Tokio's head dipped forward as if she were falling asleep. He realized she must be tired, if not physically from crawling around, then emotionally.   
  
"Would you like to sleep, Tokio?"  
  
"Will you...lay with me?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
After standing, he lifted Tokio carefully and placed her on the futon. Laying beside her, Saitou pulled her close, placing her head on his shoulder and moving her hand so it lay over his heart.  
  
"I despise Osaka, Tokio."  
  
"I'm not too fond of it anymore either."  
  
Running his fingers through her hair, he replied, "Let's leave when you are well. We'll go to the north. To Tokyo. It snows more there."  
  
"Yes," Tokio said, "That would be nice."  
  
She fell asleep soon afterwards, though not before coating a section of her husband's gi in tears. Saitou didn't mind his wife's crying, for once. 'Its alright, Tokio. You can be strong tomorrow. Tonight, I'll let you weep for both of us, to mourn for both of us. And I will stand guard against the demons of your world.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"No! I won't do it," Tokio rasped, hiding behind a large tree in the back yard.   
  
"That so?" Saitou replied, lighting a cigarette. He sat on the woodpile, watching his wife teasingly peek out from behind a tree.  
  
A month had passed since he returned from the Seinan War, and Tokio had recovered quickly, even more rapidly than he had dared to hope. But then, when Tokio put her mind to it, he knew, she could survive any injury, even ones to her heart.  
  
"Yare, I'll just ask rabbit-girl to do it then," Saitou said with a mock sigh, exhaling smoke.  
  
"And I will laugh when you come home bleeding from the jugular and looking like a scarecrow."  
  
Snowflake mewed as if in agreement as he strutted around to the side of the house. The cat had grown ridiculously fat, Saitou noted, but then, Tokio had a habit of trying to overfeed anyone she could get her hands on, even animals.  
  
Tokio stepped out from behind the tree, "Alright, I'll do it. Though, I do so only under protest."  
  
"Noted."  
  
The mischievous woman approached her husband with mock sadness. Taking the scissors and comb from his hand, she stood behind him, deftly untying his ponytail. Running her fingers through her husband's long hair for the last time, Tokio whispered, "Are you sure?"  
  
"Kuso, Tokio, it is just hair. Cut it already."  
  
"I feel like I am cutting off your manhood," Tokio replied, giggling evilly. "Which is sad, since I prefer to be married to a man."  
  
"That isn't funny, Tokio. Did you poison your sense of humor, too?" Saitou snapped, looking over his shoulder to see his wife using the scissors to snip at the air manically.  
  
"Do you really think you should insult me while -I- have the scissors?'  
  
Saitou grinned widely as he turned back around. That was the wife he adored. The one with the sickly bizarre sense of humor, the one who alternately impressed him with her virtues and challenged him with her piercing wit and intelligence, the woman with bright amber eyes and practiced feminine elegance. He briefly wondered what she would look like when she were sixty, seventy, eighty even. Her svelte features and catlike grace would make her stately as she aged, he guessed.  
  
"Oh, fa-la-la!" came the voice as Kume and Kozue rounded the corner, finding their friends in the back yard, "Are you going to cut Saitou-san's hair, Tokio-san?"  
  
"No. She's going to use the scissors to poke a hole in the back of my head and pull out my brains. You've convinced me the organ is of no use, rabbit-girl," Saitou said, gritting his teeth.  
  
"Is that so?" Kume mused with a confused smile, patting Fujiko lightly in an attempt to get the child to burp. "How unusual."  
  
"No, Kume, I'm cutting his hair," Tokio explained. "He can't wear it long as a policeman. Against regulations."  
  
Kume laughed heartily, "Oh, you two. You tell the strangest jokes, fa-la-la. My sister told me one once. Let me see, it was about a tiny horse and a monkey with a big nose. Something about a duck..."  
  
Kozue grinned sheepishly as his wife continued to ramble, constructing a joke that appeared to have a whole zoo of animals but no punchline. He placed a hand on her shoulder to quiet her and said, "We've um, come to say good-bye."  
  
"We don't say good-bye in our family," Tokio whispered to her young friend, "It is bad luck. Anyway, you should both stay for dinner. I'll cook a feast and send you home with anything we can't eat, hm?"  
  
"How wonderful!" Kume exclaimed as Fujiko expelled a tiny puddle of white goop onto the cloth on her mother's shoulder. "Oh, tra-la-la, there's she goes."  
  
Tokio watched the mother and daughter pair for a few seconds. She smiled, despite herself. Kume actually did turn out to be a rather good mother, Tokio had decided. And, even though Tokio had lost her own child, she felt relieved that everything had turned out well for the Narajirous. They doted on Fujiko, Tokio knew. She hoped that the happiness she had lost would somehow be transferred to Fujiko, doubling the girl's luck in life.  
  
"Can I, um, hold her now, Bunny-chan?" Kozue mumbled, hoping that his sensei wouldn't pick up on the fact that Saitou's nickname for Kume had become an accepted moniker.   
  
"Aiee, take her, take her. I want to help Tokio-san with the hair cutting."  
  
Saitou's eyes grew wide as he stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby block of wood. His mind reeled.  
  
'Oh, hell no. Goddamnit, Tokio, get that rabbit-girl away from my head."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Narajirous and the Saitous spent their night in each other's company. Everyone agreed that Saitou looked quite distinguished with his hair cut.   
  
"Makes you look five years younger, Saitou-san!" Kume exclaimed.  
  
Tokio stuffed them all with her cooking, bringing out plate after plate of food until they begged her to stop. Afterwards, Saitou and Kozue decided to spar one last time. Kume asked Tokio to show her a complicated embroidery stitch she'd been wanting to learn. Although the heat of late summer still lingered into the night, no one much noticed.  
  
Even Saitou seemed to be in a good humor. Though, Tokio knew that his mental state could be partially attributed to the news he had received earlier in the week. Saigo Takamori had killed himself. The Seinan War was over and one less danger existed to threaten Japan.  
  
Eventually, the entire group ended up sitting on the engawa, watching as the stars twinkled to life in the growing twilight. As Kozue and Saitou discussed everything from the upcoming trip to the best type of sake, Hajime noticed that Kume had convinced Tokio to hold Fujiko. And Tokio was smiling broadly as the women discussed child rearing.  
  
The Narajirous left late in the evening, Kume turning back twice to remind Tokio to "Write soon, fa-la-la, and come visit whenever, whenever. You're always welcome at our house!"  
  
"They're good people," Tokio whispered as she turned to her husband, who had perched on the engawa. "I will miss them." She sat next to him as he finished a cigarette.   
  
"Aa," he agreed. Leaning back on one hand, Hajime looked at the sky.   
  
"You're thinking about your new job?" Tokio asked.  
  
"Aa. Do you think, Tokio, that I...I'm doing wrong by the fallen men of the Shinsengumi to take this position working for the Meiji government?"  
  
"It has nothing to do with the government, Hajime. It has to do with keeping order and removing those elements who threaten the safety of Japan, doesn't it?"  
  
"When did you grow so wise?"  
  
"When did you start asking my opinion of the path you choose? You know I am behind you, whatever you do." Tokio patted her husband's free hand softly.   
  
"You better be," Saitou growled, grabbing her wrist as he flicked his cigarette into the yard. He placed his lips on the soft skin of her forearm and began to nibble lightly. "Are you well now, Tokio?"  
  
"Yes," she replied, shivering a bit from the sensations he had been causing on her wrist. Tokio jerked her arm away and gave her husband a look which demanded he watch his propriety.   
  
Saitou growled a low warning, "Give that back."  
  
"Come and take it, if you think it is yours."  
  
The Miburo's shoulders shifted downwards as he prepared to pounce on his wife. Tokio, anticipating his move, deftly shifted out of the way as her husband lunged at her body. Both parties knew he could have caught her easily if he wished. But, ah, the chase was half the battle.  
  
Tokio rolled out of the way, ending up facing her husband on her hands and knees. Much of her hair had come loose during the roll, and framed her face. The mere sight of his deliciously disheveled wife on her hands and knees was enough to make Saitou bite his own tongue.  
  
"C'mere Kitty."  
  
"No, you come here...baldy."  
  
"Hn," Saitou remarked, leaning back against the shoji. He wouldn't let Tokio provoke him, not this time. No, no, this time she'd beg. He'd punish her for making him worry. "Nevermind. You're not worth it anymore."  
  
A predictable look of hurt washed over Tokio's face. Pouting deeply, she whispered, "You don't want me anymore?" Tokio crawled towards him, watching him in expectation of an answer.  
  
Saitou forced himself not to move, though he desperately wanted to snatch his wife up, press her against the wall and show her the meaning of the word 'wickedness'. The fact that she was -crawling- and pouting certainly didn't help. "What is there to want? Why should I waste my time if you are just going to try to kill yourself..."  
  
"I won't," Tokio whispered, now close enough to her kneeling husband to rub her cheek on his sleeve like a cat begging to be petted. "I promise."  
  
"Look into my eyes when you make promises."  
  
Tokio pulled herself up slowly. She hid a scandalous smirk as she edged the hem of her kimono upwards, allowing her to straddle her husband's knees. She searched his gaunt face, looking for a clue to intimate that he wasn't really mad. Finally, she gave up and the pair locked eyes, "I promise."  
  
Drawing his face closer to hers, Saitou let his spidery bangs nestle against her cheeks. Tokio attempted to catch his lips, longing to kiss her husband. Unfortunately, he jerked his head backwards with a throaty growl.  
  
"Again," he commanded, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her body tightly against his own.  
  
Tokio shifted her weight, tightening her legs around her husband's waist in the most excruciatingly seductive way possible. "I promise, Hajime. Now, please..."  
  
"Something you want, Kitty?"  
  
"To welcome you home properly," Tokio purred, her rasp as thick as molasses. She bent forward to kiss his neck, just below the Adam's apple, delighting in the vibrations of the animalistic noises he made in the depths of his throat. This time, Saitou didn't move away. "Something you'd like, Hajime?"  
  
"Aa," he replied, surging forward suddenly and pinning Tokio on her back. "After I make you promise five or six more times, I'll enjoy watching your futile and soundless attempts to scream."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapters: Saitou and Tokio move to Tokyo where Saitou begins his new job as a lieutenant police inspector. Tokio has a new job, too, one that brings her face to face with a familiar young man. Jealousy reigns supreme as ghosts of the past flicker into view.  
  
Author's note: Sorry this wasn't a very interesting chapter. I'm not sure where I got too longwinded, but this was only half of the story I meant to tell in this chapter. It is boring, but necessary for events later in the story. I didn't get around to the "mysterious woman part". Sorry. Next chapter.  
  
Historical Notes: Ok. I fudged the year of the Seinan Wars to make it fit with the story, placing them in Meiji 9 instead of Meiji 10. Oh well.   
  
Character Notes: Why does Kume talk like that? I don't know. I envisioned her being very simple and lighthearted, humming and singing all the time, so much so that she injects it into her speech.  
  
Review Notes: Thank you to Dark Flame, LSR-7, Dragowolf, flirting with Animyth, incoherence, dadsnavygirl831, and Rose and Jade Goddess for your kind reviews of the last chapter.  
  
Shake Enspira: Do you know how many re-writes the chicken scene went through? 4. First it was a fish scene, then rabbit, then beef, then chicken! If you are wondering about the secret in that scene, the secret still unrevealed, I'll be letting the cat out of the bag when the storyline hits post-Kyoto arc.  
  
Leila Winters: Actually, I wasn't thinking about having Tokio use her whistle again, but...now that you bring it up, I think it will be very useful later, indeed! Glad you like my jokes, too. I can never tell when they are too stupid. :D  
  
jbramx2: Well, Kozue survived so far, so maybe he'll be OK. Although, I am flirting with sending him into a very dangerous situation in the Kyoto arc. Osaka is soooo close to Kyoto geographically, you know.   
  
Finally, to Cherry Delight: DAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME WRITE ALL THIS IN 24 HOURS. No seriously, thank you for your encouragement. Though, many more cookies and I will look like Iwambo. (You know, the big pink stupid Juppon Gatana?) There just aren't enough Iwambo stories, IMHO. I mean, seriously, he smiles all the time, how bad can he be? WHERE IS THE IWAMBO FANCLUB? WHERE ARE THE DROOLING IWAMBO FANGIRLS? I MEAN, HE'S AT LEAST AS SMART AS SANOSUKE, RIGHT? (Narrowly avoids the stampede of Sano fans looking for someone to lynch.) Anyway, above all, I hope you aren't too disappointed with this chapter after all the wait. But, you will have to wait until the next chapter to find out the answer to mystery #2. :D 


	6. Chapter 6: Ghosts of the Past

Note: All future chapters may contain spoilers for various Rurouni Kenshin plots, stories, and characters. Please discontinue reading if this is undesirable to you.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 6 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokyo. November, Meiji 9.  
  
Tokio stepped out onto the porch of her new home on Taito Street and stretched until her shoulders popped. Living in the city limits took some getting used to, she decided. First and foremost, you couldn't be perverted on the engawa with your husband unless you wanted someone to alert the authorities. Second, everyone knew everyone else's business. Or rather, they would like to think they did. As far as the good people of Taito Street knew, Fujita Goro was a simple policeman, and his quiet wife helped supplement their earnings by selling her crafts in the marketplace.  
  
Of course, the truth lay somewhere beyond that statement. For, Fujita Goro was a simple policeman, a lieutenant inspector with the police force. But the man who wore that mask, Saitou Hajime, was an ex-captain of the Shinsengumi, an excellent swordsman, and an extremely exacting killer. And his wife, though on the surface a quiet, polite, and demure woman, was his most trusted spy.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Does it meet with your approval, Hajime?" Tokio asked quietly as she followed her husband into the small house on Taito street. He had tasked her with finding a place for them to live, since he had started his new job with the police the day after they had arrived in Tokyo. They had been staying at a rather inexpensive inn, and Saitou knew the throng of people that clustered within its walls annoyed his wife at least as much as it did him.  
  
"Aa," he replied. Money wouldn't be a problem at the moment. He had sold the house in Osaka, which would be enough for them to get settled in the new city. Saitou inspected the place while his wife waited in the front room. He was not overly surprised to find that the house contained a rather extensive kitchen, and an enclosed backyard large enough for him to practice his kata unseen by the local residents. If anything, Tokio knew their needs. "It will be suitable."  
  
"I'll have the rest of our things sent from the inn," Tokio whispered as her husband returned to the front room.  
  
"Hn," he snorted, leaning against a wall. Tokio approached her husband timidly. He'd been brooding ever since he had returned from the police station this afternoon. He hadn't even bothered to give her his trademark Fujita Goro smile when he had greeted her, the one that made her cringe and whisper that he was "uniquely disturbed". Of course, Tokio knew, one couldn't simply ask Saitou Hajime what was on his mind. Nor could you demand to be told. Trying to coerce Saitou into doing anything met with resistance, if not a full assault of insults. She had to trust that he would tell her, in his own time.  
  
Thankfully, he appeared to have decided that time was now.  
  
"You must realize, Tokio," he began, "That I have not been asked here to be a mere policeman. The government wants to make use of my abilities and training to handle cases too...unsavory...for the normal police force."  
  
"I had suspected," Tokio whispered as she picked up the sewing basket she carried with her almost everywhere. "Nary a situation is simple when you are involved."  
  
"Life will be much more dangerous for than it was in Osaka. For both of us."  
  
Moving to lean on the wall beside her husband, her shoulder pressed against his arm, Tokio replied, "Living with you has never ceased being dangerous, Hajime." They both stared into empty room. "I know the things that you must do. Did you imagine that I would be afraid?"  
  
"No." Stillness permeated the room before Saitou looked down at his wife. "There are some things I want you to do for me, Tokio."  
  
Tokio looked up at her husband's serious countenance. The way his dark eyebrows pulled at his brow when he was in deep concentration always caused Tokio to wonder that he husband didn't have constant migraines.   
  
"They have given me a small budget to hire informants. The merchant class is growing in power, and many of them lack the slightest scruple against the inexhaustible forms of corruption. I require you to be my eyes and ears in the marketplace."  
  
Tokio only nodded her consent. But, inside, she burned with pride. 'He requires my assistance. Not since we were married the first time has he has asked me to participate in his missions. It must be important to him.' Boldly, Tokio reached out and threaded her fingers through her husband's clutching his hand as they stood together in their new home.  
  
"Yare, there is something else." With his free hand, he reached into the front of his crisp new uniform, pulling out a spiky metal object. "I figured any Kitty needs claws."   
  
Releasing his hand, Tokio took the object. It was a metal contraption, one that seemed vaguely familiar to Tokio, but for what reason, she couldn't say.. A set of metal claws, the kind you slipped over your hand and clasped at the wrist. The user grasped the handle which sat in the palm of her hand, and slashed with the four metal spikes that extended where fingers should be.   
  
"But...I..." Tokio began. She wasn't exactly sure what to think. Weapons like this required strength and skill, definitely not her forte. She'd never been able to land a punch hard enough to exact a bruise. She couldn't even chop her own firewood.   
  
"You'll practice. At the very least you should be able to scratch an attacker's eyes out with those."  
  
Tokio placed the shuko in her sewing basket. As she did so, she spied another object she had placed there. "I have something for you, as well." Taking the starkly white material into her hand she held it out in front of Saitou. "Your gloves."  
  
Hajime narrowed his eyes and glowered at the young woman. 'That little minx. She stole them. This morning when I asked her where they were, she said she hadn't seen them. And I believed her. Damn, you get more sneaky every year, Tokio.'  
  
"Give me those," Saitou said, swiping them from her hands. He'd had to go through his first day with part of his new uniform missing. It had annoyed him to the point of distraction. "Why'd you steal my gloves, eh Tokio?"  
  
"I wanted to embroider something on the lining."  
  
Quirking one eyebrow, Hajime turned the wrist of one of the gloves inside out. On the lining, she had sewn the characters for 'Aku. Soku. Zan.' in perfect tiny black stitches. The other glove bore the words 'For Japan'.  
  
"Hmph," Saitou said, stuffing the gloves into his pocket. "I suppose you think you are clever now."  
  
A secret smirk crossed Tokio's lips, though she said nothing. Instead, she merely slid her hands around his waist and placed her head on his chest. His new uniform was of much stiffer fabric than his gis had been. The western cut of his new clothing made him look like the foreigners she had seen in the marketplace from time to time. No one would ever suspect he used to be one of the deadliest blades of the Shinsengumi.  
  
"No, Hajime, you are the clever one."  
  
'Indeed,' he thought, 'With you working as my spy in the marketplace, I doubt you'll have much time to brood about the tragedy in Osaka.'  
  
"Come on, Kitty," Saitou finally grumbled, steering his wife out the door by a firmly placed hand on the back of her neck. He'd seen a soba stand on his way home, and it seemed a much better option than the grotesque slop they served at the inn. "I want to eat something and not have to worry about being poisoned for once."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio swept the engawa as the neighborhood came to life. She stopped several times to yawn or stretch. Getting up early really didn't agree with her. But, it did allow her to make tea for her husband before he left for work. He slept a bit more now than he did when they first met, but not by much. Tokio decided that if one day her husband dropped dead of complete exhaustion, he'd probably come back to life an hour later just to supervise and criticize the digging of his own grave.   
  
'Where is that girl?' Tokio wondered as she mentally added -promptness- to yet another long list of lessons she would need to teach the fourteen year old.   
  
Saitou had brought the scraggly looking girl over one evening without warning. He looked particularly displeased to even be standing next to her, shoving the waifish girl in the direction of his wife and pronouncing, "This is Meshibe Naoya. She's to help you in the market." Then, he turned on his heel and stomped back outside to smoke profusely.   
  
Tokio stared at the girl for quite a while before finally folding up her sewing and motioning for Naoya to sit. Naoya was definitely underfed, dirty, and from what Tokio could construe from the girl's scowl, none too happy to be there.   
  
"Do you cook?" Tokio asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Can you sew?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Can you read?"  
  
"No. I can't do any of that stuff. So, why don't I just fucking leave before you ask whatever else you are going to ask me. Because I ain't no fucking lady, see?"  
  
Tokio considered this while the girl eyed the door like she was looking for a good time to flee. Naoya had short greasy brown hair that barely fell to her shoulders, and wore a faded greenish yukata that may have been blue at one point. Dirt permeated the girl's appearance, but two things caught Tokio's attention. One, Naoya's fingernails were immaculately kempt, trimmed rather than chewed. And two, she had tried to tie her yukata sash in a current style worn by high society ladies...and had failed miserably, causing the bow to end up lopsided.  
  
"I see," Tokio whispered. "You are no lady. But you would very much like to be."  
  
Naoya's eyes grew wide as she whipped her hands behind her back, "I..."  
  
"Why did you hide your hands, Naoya-chan?"  
  
The youth shifted her weight as her face reflected her discomfort, "Mother always told me you can tell a lady by her hands." Peering at Tokio's lap where the voiceless woman had laid her own hands, Naoya continued, "And mine'r fuckin' dirty."  
  
Tokio chuckled silently as she stood, "Hands can be washed, Naoya-chan. Sewing and cooking can be learned. But, if you want to become a lady, you'd do best to stop cursing, or we shan't get along at all." Tokio extended a hand to the young girl who had bowed her head as if in shame. "Won't you come with me, Naoya-chan? I'd very much appreciate your assistance in the kitchen."  
  
From what Tokio was later able to gather, Meshibe Naoya's mother worked as a maid at a hotel frequented by foreigners. In return for information she might gather on their personal habits or dealings, Saitou had promised to help Meshibe-san's eldest daughter become refined enough to work in a teahouse. Unfortunately, before that, Naoya had worked with her older brother. He was a laborer on the railroads, and since she was six, she had been a water-bearer for the men there.  
  
'No wonder she has the vocabulary of a hardened adventurer drunk on three jugs of sake. Those railroad men are rough,' Tokio thought as she noticed she had all but fallen asleep leaning against her broom.   
  
"Oi, Tokio-san," Naoya called, opening the gate and striding up the shaded walkway. Tokio noticed that Naoya's obi was at least a smidgen less lopsided than the day before, which turned out to be a minor improvement over the previous three weeks' attempts. Naoya noticed and spun around, showing off her obi-tying attempt. "Ya like it? I think your old kimonos look just fu...just smashing on me. Right, Tokio-san?"  
  
"They're a little big. And you're a little late."  
  
"I -know-," Naoya said, "I have to tell you, Tokio-san. I saw that woman lurking outside your gate again this morning. She wandered off when she saw me, so I followed her! Ain't I clever?"  
  
Tokio's eyes narrowed as she leaned her broom against a post. That woman. They'd seen her several times. Watching them from across the street in the marketplace. Leaning against a tree or sitting on a bench as they passed on the way home. Tokio and Naoya dismissed it as coincidence the first few times. But now...now -that woman- had been lurking around the house on Taito street.   
  
The unknown woman wore fine garments, and carried herself with a confident air. Expensive rings adorned her long fingers. And she smoked constantly, always puffing away at a foreign cigarette dangling from a thin ebony cigarette-holder. Tokio guessed her to be in her late thirties, though much more had been hard to discern. The woman always looked away or walked off if Tokio looked directly at her.  
  
Tokio hadn't told her husband. Not yet. She had to know more beforehand. If it turned out to be nothing, Hajime would never let her hear the end of it.  
  
"What did you find out, Naoya-chan?" Tokio asked as she stepped off the engawa and proceeded to help the younger woman hook up the horse to the small cart the pair used for selling their wares.   
  
Naoya grinned, knowing she'd done something important this morning, and hoping that Lady Tokio-san would praise her for her efforts. "She went to a...whore house!"  
  
Tokio clicked her tongue and repeated primly, "A house of ill repute?" Hopefully, her young friend would get the idea that one did not speak of these women as "whores". "How did you know that it was such a place?"  
  
"Tokio-san, ya don't work with the railroad men for eight years and not know that sorta thing. Anyway, d'ya think...I mean she's a little old, but, I guess men like all types, right?"  
  
"You're positively impertinent, Naoya," Tokio whispered as she affixed the straps to the horse.   
  
As Naoya repeated the phrase "positively impertinent" softly to herself several times, Tokio's mind spun. 'A prostitute? One of Aunt Junpei's friends, perhaps? But how would Aunt Junpei know where to find me? I didn't even tell her when we left Nagasaki. And I certainly haven't contacted her since then. She could be one of husband's informants, perhaps. But, then why would she be following Naoya and I?'  
  
As the pair loaded up the cart, Naoya asked quietly, "Oi, Tokio-san. What's 'inpertinet' mean, anyway?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The marketplace. It was the once place Tokio loved being among people. Unlike the scrutiny of a social engagement or the base human functionality of an inn, the marketplace fascinated Saitou Tokio. Here, people dressed their best, they affected different personalities, intricate masks to hide damning secrets and scandalous realities. And Tokio could pierce them all with her keen eye. A decade of nigh-silence had honed her skills of perception on par with her husband. She couldn't sense ki, but she could certainly tell when a woman forced a smile, or when a child stood a little too far away from a parent. Tokio knew what it meant when a food vendor gave a lady a larger portion than any other customer, when the kimono seamstress closed her doors a little early, and when the vendor of wall scrolls and paintings sold items taken from a special hidden shelf underneath his counter. Secrets, the marketplace was a toybox of secrets. And only Saitou Tokio had the key.  
  
"You can buy this beautiful little cake for your sweetheart, mister! One bite, and she'll squeal with delight!" Naoya called out to a particularly well-dressed gentleman.  
  
For all of her lack of manners, refinement and elegance, Meshibe Naoya turned out to have one amazing talent. Salesmanship. Tokio figured the fourteen year old could probably sell a pair of shoes to a legless man.  
  
Plus, she had a very, very healthy voice.  
  
Tokio watched the bustle of people from the corner of her eye as she sewed. The tofu vendor looked a little pale today. Tokio wondered if the girl from the flower shop had finally told him he would soon be a father. Likely. One of the local innkeepers wore a yukata that certainly seemed too small for her. Another row with her husband had ruined her last good one, Tokio supposed.  
  
A young man, even younger than Naoya, weaved his way through the crowd. his spiky black hair remained unmoving even in the late autumn wind. His mustard-colored gi bulked unnaturally at the waist. Tokio smirked. The boy's tanned face looked up as he passed Tokio's stall, brown eyes locking on hers for only an instant. Afterwards, he disappeared into the crowd ahead.  
  
"Naoya," Tokio whispered, "Would you watch the cart for a moment? I'll return shortly."  
  
"Yeah, 'course Tokio-san," Naoya chirped. After her mentor was out of sight, Naoya put her feet up and leaned back on her stool. Someone across the street yelled, "Hey girl. I can see up your kimono!"  
  
Naoya grumbled as she swung her legs back down. "Piss off, fucker!" She forced herself into the constrictive posture Tokio sat in most of the time. Naoya cursed under her breath. "Damn it. Am I learning to be a lady, or a freakin' pretzel?"  
  
Tokio wove through the streets of the markets with ease, stopping occasionally to glance at this or that item that caught her eye. After a few minutes, she found herself in an off-alley, one containing little more than a broken cart and someone's laundry strung on ropes across the narrow passage.  
  
The boy in the yellow gi sat on a pair of wooden steps about halfway down the alley.  
  
"Myojin-san," Tokio whispered as she motioned towards the bulk in his gi. "I see you've done a brisk business this morning." She'd already learned that the boy had a soft spot for flattery and shows of respect.   
  
"Aa. Look, I don't got a lot of time lady, so let me lay it on the line for you." Myojin Yahiko produced a small slip of paper and handed it to Tokio. "The head of the local yakuza is going to be at this address in two weeks."  
  
"I can't promise anything," Tokio replied as she slipped the paper into her sewing basket.   
  
Yahiko glared at the woman. Tokio-san the vendor of sweets and embroidery. She always wore a scarf, and couldn't speak above a whisper. There were all sorts of rumors about how she'd gotten her injury, but Yahiko didn't care much for idle gossip. Where Tokio-san was concerned, the more intriguing mystery to Yahiko was how she knew -everything- that went on in the marketplace. How she found out that he was a pickpocket in the employ of the yakuza confounded him.   
  
"You said you had contacts who could take the local yakuza down," Yahiko said, trying not to whine.  
  
Tokio eyed the end of the alleyway where someone had lingered a bit too long. Fortunately, it was only a little girl bending to pick up a dropped toy. "I do. But, they must be certain of many things before they act." Tokio bowed slightly to the boy and turned to leave. "Good afternoon to you, Myojin-san."  
  
"Wait, Tokio-san. I have something else that might interest you."  
  
Minutes later, Tokio made her way back to the cart and Naoya through the flowing crowds of the marketplace. A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. A good day, indeed. She'd procured extremely useful information from that Yahiko boy. Plus, he had sold her a recipe for an interesting pastry. He'd found it when he'd picked the pocket of a foreign woman. And then, Naoya's information about the strange woman who had been following them. Yes, a good day.   
  
Tokio permitted herself to be mildly pleased. No more, no less. Overconfident egotism was an unappealing trait and one that would never suit her. But, she could not disregard the progress being made. And she -had- vowed Hajime would not regret giving her this assignment.   
  
Lost in her thoughts, Tokio didn't realize the situation at the cart until she was only a few yards away. Naoya stood, her arms boyishly crossed at her chest, her feet planted apart from each other in a protective stance. Her upper lip curled as she locked gazes with the very woman who had been following them around town. The stranger stood at the cart, smoking nonchalantly as she returned the stare.  
  
Tokio approached the cart and put one hand on Naoya's shoulder to calm the girl. "Naoya-chan, won't you go and find us a touch of lunch?"  
  
"You sure, Tokio-san? 'Cause I can..."  
  
"Yes, please, Naoya-chan," Tokio whispered. As the youth stormed off angrily to find food, Tokio turned her attention to the woman who had been stalking them. She definitely didn't look like any of Aunt Junpei's friends. She exuded confidence and disdain for her surroundings. Tokio noted that even though the woman's garments were of extremely fine silk, she wore them in the simplest manner possible, without any extra flourishes to the obi or any decorations in the woman's hair. But, the woman's face intrigued Tokio the most. Long and lean, with defined cheek bones and a strong chin. It had a familiar quality that Tokio struggled to place.  
  
"How may I be of assistance today?" Tokio asked, deciding the best course of action would be feigning ignorance.   
  
The woman took a quick puff from the end of her cigarette holder and ran her hand over some of the embroidered handkerchiefs Tokio had for sale. "You are Saitou Tokio, ne? Wife of Saitou Hajime?"  
  
Tokio's gaze darted around the marketplace quickly. No one had heard. "Fujita Tokio, madame. Though, I believe I may be acquainted with the man of whom you speak."  
  
"Ah," the woman replied, her eyes flickering with understanding, "Yamaguchi Katsu. Perhaps you know of me?"  
  
The name sounded so incredibly familiar. Tokio's mind reeled trying to place it. And how exactly did this Yamaguchi Katsu know about her husband? "I'm afraid I do not."  
  
A look of hurt crossed Katsu's face briefly, only to disappear in the depths of her practiced disdain. The older woman picked up a silk scarf and held it up to the sunlight. "I see. Perhaps you could give Hajime-kun something for me." Katsu slipped a small envelope out of a fold in her obi. Handing it to Tokio she continued, "Tell him not to be late."  
  
Tokio flipped the envelope over several times, trying to discern any extra information about the enclosed missive. By the time she looked back up, Katsu had turned away from the stand. "Ciao, Tokio. Give my very warmest greetings to Hajime." Katsu disappeared into the market crowd with one disaffected wave of her cigarette holder.  
  
By the time Naoya returned with the bowls of noodle soup she had procured, Tokio had worked herself into quite a perturbed state. This, of course, looked hardly different from any other state into which Tokio might work herself, being a woman practiced at hiding her emotions from the world for the sake of propriety. Nonetheless, a trained or familiar eye could easily discover that the usually inscrutable Saitou Tokio had put down her embroidery and glanced uneasily at the nearby sewing basket every few minutes.  
  
Tokio had the definite inkling that she did not want to follow her own train of logic to it's intuitive conclusion. A woman who had been seen returning to a house of ill repute, who had been following Tokio, who not only knew Tokio's husband's real name, but appeared to feel she could address him rather familiarly... Tokio did not appreciate where such thoughts led.   
  
'Of course, Hajime had been in his late twenties by the time I met him. Certainly he had known women, perhaps even carnally, before that time. It would be far too naive of me to think otherwise. In war times, soldiers surely must find their comforts where they can. How can I possibly be jealous of a time before we even met? I shall not. To do so would be far too frivolous. I can not be jealous, I will not sink to such a level, the level of the petty lovers' squabbles that ripple through the marketplace from time to time. And above all, I would not give Hajime that satisfaction.'  
  
"Tokio-san, are you quite alright? You haven't even touched your soup."  
  
"Quite well, Naoya-chan," Tokio whispered, "It is a lovely day, no? One of the last we are likely to have until winter. Perhaps we should pack up and return for now."  
  
Naoya shoveled the rest of her soup into her mouth quickly, stopping only for a moment to ask, "So, what, Fujita-san's gonna get it tonight, eh? I seen my mother do it, you know? You yell at them, point your finger a lot, and then when they finally admit it, boom...kick 'em right in the.."  
  
"Naoya-chan!" Tokio gasped, reaching out to pinch the girl's lips closed. "I dare say I have absolutely no idea what you mean."  
  
After her mouth was finally released, Naoya rubbed the area slightly. Pouting, she replied, "If that is true, Tokio-san, I think I may have a few things that -I- need to teach -you-."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio was definitely not waiting impatiently for her husband to get home. Certainly not. She was not that sort of woman. No. Saitou Tokio was going about her chores in the same fashion she did every afternoon. And maybe she -was- scrubbing her husband's yukatas a bit more vigorously than usual, but certainly this did not denote anything out of the ordinary. Or maybe she did briefly wonder exactly how much wood would be needed to bring a bath to a temperature way past boiling, but surely such a thought didn't mean anything important.  
  
Saitou Hajime returned home around the time the sun was setting. He'd stayed late, as he did many days, to pour over reports and documents. In general, he found, most of his efforts turned out to be unnecessary. Tokyo certainly had it's criminal element, but nothing of particular import. Nothing that could match wits or sword with the Wolf of Mibu.  
  
His wife met him in the front room, as usual, taking his jacket quietly. 'Hmm. That little red blush across the bridge of her nose. The brightness of her skin. She looks more radiant than usual today,' he thought, bending down slightly to smell his wife's hair while she engrossed herself in folding the overshirt of his police uniform. 'Which means one of two things. Either she's done something clever, or she's trying very hard to deceive me.'  
  
"Did you have a good day at work, Hajime?" Tokio asked as she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch his dinner.   
  
"Aa," he replied, hiding the suspicion in his voice. She was being far too chipper. It was not altogether uncommon for the pair to not speak more than five or six words to one another in the evenings. "And did you manage to reign in badger-girl?"  
  
He actually didn't care about her answer. Saitou focused on her voice. Even his wife's nigh inaudible whisper carried it's own inflections and nuances. Knowing these, he hoped to be able to deduce her frame of mind and motivations.   
  
Tokio returned holding a lacquer tray bearing soba and cucumber rolls, which she sat in front of her now-seated husband. Though she had eaten earlier, Tokio sat at the table as well, taking an evening tea to keep her husband company. "Naoya-chan? Yes. Naoya has turned out to be quite helpful." Tokio reached into her ever-present sewing basket and produced a slip of paper and a small envelope. Saitou noticed that her whisper changed only subtly as she switched to business mode. "I was able to get a location for that yakuza underboss from the pickpocket I told you about."  
  
"Indeed," was Saitou's only reply as he lifted the slip of paper, scrutinized it, and then tucked it in the breast pocket of his undershirt. 'Ah. So she's proud of herself, that's all. Yare,' Saitou stole a lustful glance at his wife as she daintily sipped her tea, 'I'll just have to thank her later.'  
  
"And..." Tokio's whisper all but dripped with acid, "A woman brought this. She said to give 'Hajime-kun' warmest greetings." Daggers flashing in her eyes, Tokio slid the envelope across the table.   
  
With one swift movement, Saitou lifted the envelope and had it opened. Tokio wondered how he had so cleanly slit it open without using a knife. The amber-eyed man glanced from the unfolded paper pulled from inside the envelope, to Tokio, and back to the paper. Tokio scrutinized her husband. If he was going to reveal anything, it would be now. But, the only emotion which passed his face was a mild look of surprise, followed by a double dose of annoyance.  
  
"A woman, you say?" Saitou asked disaffectedly, "Did she tell you anything else?"  
  
"That her name was Yamaguchi Katsu. That's all." Tokio found herself, for once, unable to look at her husband's eyes. She stared into the murky depths of her tea, swishing it slightly as it grew ever more cold from neglect. "Well, except that Naoya-chan happened to follow the woman..."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
Tokio's hands shook slightly as she continued, "To a...well...an establishment for ladies of the evening."  
  
Saitou Hajime laughed heartily, almost maniacally for once. The expression on Tokio's face really was quite priceless. His wife's horror couldn't be more amusing. The prudish way she had revealed the information, as if the mere thought of a prostitute would sully her own virtue. This, combined with the jealousy she had tried so diligently to hide, all but brought mirthful tears to his eyes.   
  
'This will be...fun,' Saitou thought, 'Provided she didn't poison my rice.' A brief scene entered the Miburo's mind of him laying prone on the floor, knocked out by some unknown poison. Tokio sat on his chest, her newly procured iron claw inching towards his left eye. 'No. That's ridiculous. She wouldn't dare.' Wiping the image from his mind, he concentrated on the horrified expression on Tokio's face.  
  
"Might I ask why you are laughing, Hajime?" Tokio asked, attempting to look calm as she lifted her already chilly tea to her lips.  
  
"I laugh because the naivete of my wife is thoroughly amusing." Pushing his tray of food away, just to be on the safe side, Saitou reached into the pocket of his undershirt to retrieve his cigarettes. Tokio hated it when he smoked inside, he knew. Glaring at her intently, he lit his cigarette with a match, daring the young woman to contradict his actions. "Don't you realize how very amusing you are, Tokio? Was not your own aunt one of those 'ladies of the evening'? It amazes me how quickly you raise your nose when confronted with the less palatable elements of your past."  
  
"But, I never did anything..." Tokio placed her teacup down on the table a bit too smartly, causing the saucer to clink noisily. Blood rushed from the young woman's face as her posture became ever more strained.  
  
"Never, did you?" Tendrils of smoke curtained the intense glower of the icy man sitting across from Tokio, "Surely, you don't expect me to believe that. Not after you so willingly -gave- yourself to the first man who crossed your path. You wanted out of more than your aunt's home, didn't you, Tokio? You wanted out of her business, too."  
  
Tokio's nostrils flared. Now visibly shuddering with each word, she pronounced, "That is not true, and you know it."  
  
"Do I?" Saitou leaned back on one hand nonchalantly. He had her. One or two more pushes, and his wife might just explode. And everything she kept hidden, locked away inside that demeanor of demure politeness would explode and expose some exquisite molten core of Tokio no one had ever seen. "What is the harm in people thinking you were once such a woman, Tokio? I mean, surely, you are an honorable woman now, married and faithful. What would be the harm in all your little pawns in the marketplace thinking you were once a common whore? One little rumor and...."  
  
Tokio's hand swung before she even realized what she was doing. She had intended to slap him. Perhaps such a reflex lays within all enraged women who find themselves restrained by the bounds of society and the supposed weakness of their gender. Nonetheless, her husband easily blocked the blow, knocking it away with the back of his hand in a dismissive movement.   
  
"Problem, Tokio?" As Tokio withdrew her hand, a hand that was slowly balling into a fist, her husband continued. "Or are you just worried that I only see you as one more in a string of loose women with which I pepper these boring Meiji nights?"  
  
That did it. This time, Tokio knew -exactly- what she was doing. She swung her fist with all of her might, aiming directly for her husband's jaw. She didn't care, at that moment, if he was the Wolf of Mibu, one of the strongest swords of the Shinsengumi, or an expert killer. She only cared that he was her husband, and he would -pay-.  
  
Of course he easily caught her wrist. Saitou held it aloft while putting out his cigarette with his other hand. Tokio struggled as he did so, pulling at her arm by leaning away from her husband.  
  
"Let me go."  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes. Let me go. I tire of your games," Tokio whispered as her husband pulled her forward. She fought against his grip, but in the end could not match his strength. He turned her wrist slightly, locking the joint to give her less leverage. To avoid pain, and ultimately a sprained wrist, Tokio had to move so close to her husband she could feel his breath on her left cheek. "You're hurting me," she whispered.  
  
"You like it," he replied with a growl. "You always have." He dived for her lips, wanting to drink the exquisite jealousy from Tokio's pouting mouth. Her anger, her every hidden emotion, had an intoxicating effect on him, even more so than sake. Except, when he drank Tokio, it wasn't killing with which he became obsessed.  
  
And she was -far- more addictive.  
  
As his tongue ran greedily over his wife's lips, Tokio bucked suddenly, pushing away from him by leveraging her free arm against his shoulder. When he tightened his hold, Tokio's head lunged forward and Saitou had to move his head swiftly to narrowly avoided being bitten.  
  
"Go ahead and struggle, Tokio," he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear, "It will just make it all the more rewarding when you give in."  
  
"Then I will pretend to be dead," Tokio hissed.  
  
"I'm sure you're now beginning to suspect, Tokio," he murmured as his lips trailed possessively over her neck, "I've had worse. Much worse."  
  
Tokio's anger suddenly gave way to her own confusion and dread. "Many...Hajime? Have there been many others? Are there...now...still..." Tokio asked as she felt her neck grow warm and flushed. 'Even when I am angry with him, why can't I resist him? I must. I simply must.' Using her still-twisted arm, Saitou pushed his wife onto her back. Her doubt was irresistible, her timid anger delicious. If he didn't have her, and soon, he might burst into flames and consume everything in his path.  
  
When he didn't answer her questions, Tokio turned her head to stare fearfully at the wall, "Are you...so very unhappy with me?"  
  
Deftly untying her yukata, Hajime replied, "Tokio, if I was, do you really think I would spend my time with other women? I have so many better things to do." Naked flesh exposed to trained fingers, Tokio shivered as her husband traced elaborate designs on her torso with his hand. "You can be so simpleminded."  
  
"You let me think that you..." Tokio winced as her husband's hands grazed a particularly sensitive area, "You bastard..."  
  
"Yare, yare, it curses. What else will it do when angered?"  
  
As she involuntarily arched her back to his touch, Tokio gritted her teeth, "I hate you."  
  
Sweeping his gaze down his wife's prone form, Hajime quirked an eyebrow, "Your body seems to be declaring otherwise. I'll stop torturing you if you just submit, Tokio. You know that."  
  
"Not until you tell me who she is."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Yamuguchi Katsu," Tokio breathed, exasperated.  
  
Saitou rolled his eyes, "You mean my sister?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They had almost made it to the bedroom. Almost.  
  
Saitou lay half in the hallway, half in the bedroom, the cool wooden floor against his naked back, his warm blooded wife against his torso.   
  
"I can't believe you have a sister," Tokio whispered, entwining her legs with her husband's. "An elder sister. You never told me."  
  
"I suppose it would be too late to mention my older brother, as well."  
  
Tokio ran her fingers over her husband's muscled forearm, "But. I don't understand, Hajime. Why is her name Yamaguchi? If she is married, why did she go to..."  
  
"Kuso, where are my cigarettes?"  
  
"Mmm? Here they are," Tokio replied, scooping up her husband's shirt in the darkness and handing it to him.  
  
"Yare, Tokio, you don't think my real name is Saitou Hajime, do you?"  
  
It took a moment. And then Saitou heard his wife's fist thump against the floorboard, "Don't I know anything about you?"  
  
"Ah, Kitty, you know the important things. You know how much I like it when you..."  
  
"Hajime, please!"   
  
The Wolf of Mibu chuckled as he lit a match. He held it first to his cigarette, then close to his wife's lips for her to blow out. "According to her note, we're invited to dinner. Still, it is hard to say what Katsu really wants. My family and I didn't exactly part on pleasant terms."  
  
"Will you tell me about it, Hajime?" Tokio asked, placing light kisses on her husband's abdomen.  
  
"Aa. I suppose you should know."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yamaguchi Jirou's fist connected with the other fat man's nose, causing a distinct snap. The rotund man squealed in pain as he stumbled towards the entrance, muttering about honor and revenge and bandages. Hands clapped on Jirou's back as the nineteen year old bent back down to take another roll of the die.  
  
"That'll teach old Unjara to cheat, eh Jirou?" one of the many young faces called with glee.  
  
The lanky youth, a spindly and often underestimated boy cracked his knuckles and responded, "Aa."  
  
"Geez, loosen up, Jirou, that's the third guy you've punched tonight."  
  
"If you don't want to be next, Hiro, you'll shut up and get me more sake."  
  
Hiro scratched the back of his head and shrugged. Jirou had been his friend since he could remember, and since he could remember, Jirou had been in a bad mood. Nonetheless, Jirou did have some good qualities. Well, he had some qualities that were not utterly detestable. Probably.   
  
Besides, Jirou's older sister was the fiery and stunning Yamaguchi Katsu. And Hiro also could not remember a time when he was not in love with her. OF course, the only word she had ever said to him was, "Ahou." But, in Hiro's mind, what she really meant was "I find you utterly irresistible. Be mine forever."  
  
As the pair took a break from gambling, they leaned against a far wall, speaking quietly, "You lose much more money, Jirou, and your father will have your head. How much have you lost tonight?"  
  
"Mind your own business, Hiro. Anyway, I always win. I'm not an idiot like the rest of these losers who leave everything to chance." Jirou replied, taking another swig from his jug of sake.  
  
"Do you mean you are going to cheat?"  
  
"Of course not," Jirou grumbled, thumping his friend on the shoulder with the back of his hand, "That would be dishonorable. Don't insult me."  
  
Jirou noted that over the past three months, the establishments in which they had been gambling had become progressively more seedy. He'd wanted to be able to deny that this correlated with the amount of desperation with which he played. But, no longer could the teenager lie to himself. If he didn't win big, and soon, the future looked bleak for the rapidly-failing Yamaguchi family.  
  
Ever since his father had become ill, money had grown scarce for the family. Jirou's elder brother had journeyed to Tokyo to seek his fortune, in the hopes that he might soon return with money to spare. But, that had been almost a half year ago, and the situation had only grown worse with the disappearance of the eldest Yamaguchi son.   
  
If Jirou didn't come up with money for the family soon, his sister would be married off to Fusada Atsuji. Fusada. The name burned in Jirou's mind. Fusada, who had let his first wife burn when their house had caught fire, running from the blaze like a frightened animal. Fusada, whose name stood for every corrupt and underhanded practice that made the merchant class despicable, backstabbing, bribery, even dealing in opium. Fusada, the rat-faced lowlife that had somehow come to own half the village.  
  
Fusada, who just then walked in the door.  
  
Hiro noted that his friend's posture went rigid. Following Jirou's gaze, the shorter of the two boys gasped. Hiro put his hand on his lanky friend's shoulder.  
  
"He's not worth it, Jir-kun."  
  
The young man who would someday become Saitou Hajime handed the jug of sake to his friend.   
  
"Do you love my sister, Hiro?" Jirou asked, reaching up to tighten the binds on his ponytail.   
  
"Yeah, but, that doesn't have anything to do with it. Your father will be angry..."  
  
The noise in the establishment dropped to nothing as Jirou drew his sword and stepped forward, eyes on Fusada. Speaking so that all the other patrons could hear, Jirou continued, "Hiro, if you love my sister, then you will understand why I can not let her, or my family, be dishonored by mingling blood with this lowlife. We are samurais, descended from the greatest of samurais, the loyal men of Harima, the samurai of Lord Asano. All who live within this village know that the Yamaguchi name is sacrosanct! And I would rather be branded an outlaw for my actions than see that name dragged through the mud by this mere merchant of opium!"  
  
The blood of Fusada Atsuji soon dripped down the walls of the gambling house. No man moved to prevent the action, and no man moved to stop the culprit from his escape.   
  
Six hours later, as the sun rose and sent a blush of pink over every doorstep in the tiny southern village, Yamaguchi Jirou hopped down from the massive tree where he and Hiro had played in their youth. Jirou's friend approached with some caution, looking around yet again to make sure he had not been followed.  
  
Holding out a sack, Hiro said, "Hey. I brought you some things. I couldn't get your stuff, that would be too suspicious. But there is a change of clothes and some food. You should probably not stop until you get to Mibu. You know how fast word travels in these villages. My uncle will take you in when you get there."  
  
"How is my family?" Jirou replied, leaning against the aged tree, as he rummaged through the sack.   
  
"Distraught. Your father is going to have to disown you, you know. And your mother won't stop crying..."  
  
"Take care of them for me, Hiro. And Katsu. She's a good woman, even if she does have the family temper."  
  
"Yeah. I will." Hiro closed his eyes to fight back his tears. He'd always been a bit too sentimental for Jirou's taste, but the tall youth ignored it as he slung the bag over his back and started off into the woods. "Be safe, Jirou-kun!"  
  
Without looking back, a steady voice replied, "Ahou. Yamaguchi Jirou is dead."  
  
Three weeks later, a young man by the name of Saitou Hajime appeared in Mibu. He threw a mean punch, and had deadly sword skills. And the look in his eye gave no one cause to doubt that he was a killer.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So, if her name is Yamaguchi Katsu, still, then she must have never married that Hiro boy," Tokio whispered, feeling around on the floor in the dim room to find her yukata. She shivered, but did not know if it was the room or the tale that had caused her skin to grow cold.   
  
"Hn." Saitou found his shirt, the one he had pulled his cigarettes from, and chucked it at his wife. "Katsu always did have her own pigheaded way of doing things."  
  
Tokio sat, straddling her husband's stomach, and pulled the shirt over her head. As the black material slipped over her torso, she asked, "Did it make you afraid, the first man you killed? Do you regret it, Hajime?"  
  
"No. I regret nothing. To regret that act would be to give that man some special place among those it has been my duty to kill. He does not deserve such a pedestal."  
  
"No," Tokio whispered, suppressing a shudder as her husband's cold hands darted underneath the fabric and slid upwards over her ribs. "I didn't suppose you would. Will you go, then, to meet your sister?"  
  
"We will go," Saitou corrected, "There is no reason I, alone, should have to suffer. Now get off of me and go to bed, Tokio. The floor is cold."  
  
Tokio tilted her head to one side, "Oh? My husband is not known to complain."  
  
"Complain? Don't be daft, woman." Strong arms gripped Tokio's waist as she was suddenly rolled onto her back. Tokio sucked air in through her teeth as the icy floor assaulted her arms and legs. "That was not a complaint. It was a warning."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio squinted slightly as she looked out the grime covered carriage window. Tokyo looked so completely different rushing past one's eyes in the fading twilight. Hypnotic. One shop, one house, one road blurring into the next. The dazzling coronas of each streetlamp refracted in the imperfections in the window glass, turning into multicolored spokes of light. Tapping her fingernail on the glass, Tokio stifled a yawn.  
  
Saitou watched his wife out of the corner of his eye. He had to admit, she looked quite lovely this evening. Her deep maroon colored kimono offset the creamy luster of her skin. The tiny beads on the fringes of her long beige scarf clacked rhythmically as the carriage drove over the uneven roads, making it almost impossible to keep his mind on the task at hand...figuring out what his sister wanted.  
  
"Don't fall asleep, Tokio."  
  
"I shan't," she replied, leaning back to allow the dusty curtain to fall back over the glass. "Perhaps I should have worn my tomesode. But, I am unsure if that would be proper, since your sister's married state is unknown. It might offend her somehow and I..."  
  
"Tokio, since when do you babble idiotically?"  
  
Tokio shut her mouth and laid her hands in her lap. She'd told herself that it was exactly ridiculous to be nervous. She had no reason to behave erratically, as she did not need Katsu's approval. Tokio had been married to Hajime for six years, and nothing Katsu could say or think would change that. Yet, although she could handle the bustle of the marketplace with ease, impersonal transactions being deceptively simple to navigate, intimate social engagements were not the forte of Saitou Tokio. She tended to grow so shy and withdrawn as to blend in with the decor. This fact had caused her to beg her husband twice, earlier in the day, to leave her behind. He had, quite pointedly, refused.  
  
And on top of it all, she had nothing with which to occupy her hands, no sewing, nothing. It made her almost envy her husband's smoking habit.  
  
The carriage came to a halt only minutes later, and the couple disembarked into the crisp night air. A western-style house stood before them, grand in stature. Saitou only narrowed his eyes and began up the walkway in a determined gait, leaving Tokio to lift her kimono slightly and follow behind him as best she could in her geta.  
  
Katsu met them on the porch. She'd been leaning against a chalky white column, letting wisps of smoke escape the cigarette on the end of her ebony holder. For the first time, Tokio understood why Katsu looked so familiar. She and her brother had the same facial structures, with deep hollows behind their cheekbones, brows pinched in eternal concentration, and strong chins. And they both smoked profusely.  
  
"Katsu," was Saitou's only word of greeting as Tokio finally caught up and came to a stop a few steps behind her husband.   
  
"Little brother! You came." Katsu stepped off the porch and approached her brother. She seemed to glide forward, and Tokio downcast her eyes, confused. If this woman were a prostitute, she certainly comported herself with the utmost grace. "With your predilection towards paranoia at every circumstance, I doubted your appearance."  
  
Ignoring his sister's insult, the Miburo indicated his wife with a nod of his head, "You are acquainted with my wife."  
  
"Barely, Jirou-kun, barely," Katsu replied. She walked towards the other woman confidently. Tokio bowed deeply, only to find her chin being lifted by Katsu's free hand, "You must forgive me, Tokio. I did not mean to frighten you in the marketplace. I only wanted to know what sort of woman would marry that most pigheaded brother of mine."  
  
'Pigheaded,' Tokio thought. 'The same word Hajime used to describe Katsu.' Tokio stifled a smirk as she whispered, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance properly, Yamaguchi-san."  
  
Katsu chuckled sonorously and pronounced, "Ah. Now I see, a kitten in public, a tiger in the bedroom, ne brother?"  
  
Tokio's breath caught in her throat, and she had to cough slightly to regain her composure after such a comment. Nonetheless, her cheeks burned in a furious blush as Katsu patted her on the shoulder. "Alright there, Tokio. Don't let my lack of propriety kill you."  
  
"And where, might I ask, would -your- husband be located, dear sister?" Saitou asked.  
  
"Husband? You must be joking. I have no need for men to care for me, ahou, despite what you may think. After our older brother left and you were forced to flee due to that ridiculous stunt you pulled, who do you think supported our sick father and distraught mother?"  
  
Tokio watched as brother and sister traded scathing insinuations and caustic insults, mildly alarmed by how deeply the similarities between the two ran. Secretly, she hoped Katsu would somehow win. And, indeed, it looked like the elder of the pair was in the lead.  
  
"How does a woman with no husband end up owning such a house, hm Katsu? My wife's assistant followed you to a whorehouse. What shame have you brought upon our family just because you couldn't be bothered to marry a perfectly respectable youth like Hiro?"  
  
Katsu all but cackled, throwing her head back in an appeal to the gods of the sky to stop the painful amusement. "Ahou. You really haven't grown any more perceptive, have you? While I am impressed with that little girl's tracking skills, I am afraid you have the wrong impression. I am a writer, and I write romance novels for women. The ladies of those establishments are some of my best customers."  
  
"You are trying my patience, Katsu. Why did you ask us here?" Saitou asked, tossing a half-smoked cigarette into the gravel for emphasis.   
  
"Not everyone has ulterior motives, brother. I wanted to have dinner with my brother and his wife. And I wanted to introduce you to a boarder of mine who has been very interested to make your acquaintance."  
  
"Very well," the younger of the Yamaguchi siblings replied, "Perhaps you could let us inside instead of being such a remarkably bad hostess."  
  
"Hn," Katsu grunted, turning on her heel to walk towards the front door. "Do come inside, Tokio, won't you? As for you, brother, you can do as you please, including staying here until you rot."  
  
"As if I would allow your influence to corrupt my wife, Katsu." Saitou grumbled, removing his shoes and following the pair of women inside.  
  
Although the house had a western exterior, Katsu's decorations of the inside leaned towards a tasteful blend of many cultures. Tokio suspected the woman traveled a great deal, and wondered if the wanderlust that often took her husband to the far reaches of the country extended to the entirety of the Yamaguchi clan.   
  
"You have a lovely home, Yamaguchi-san," Tokio whispered timidly as they walked.   
  
"Thank you, Tokio. I hope to bring my parents here someday. But they refuse to leave their village. Stubborn, you see. As we all are."  
  
"I am glad to hear they are still well," Tokio replied. Though, she didn't know if she could quite stomach the thought of ever meeting Hajime's parents. Especially not after meeting his temperamental sister.  
  
"Here we are," Katsu declared, indicating a door. "My illustrious boarder." She knocked lightly and asked, "Are you decent in there, O-chan? Won't you come out and accompany us to dinner?"  
  
"Katsu-san," a male voice replied, "Your concerns as to my decency are welcomed, but I know that no man's moral state shall ever rise to your twisted sense of propriety, ne? Nonetheless, as I fear the wrath of a lady mantis shunned, I shall indeed join you for the proposed feast."  
  
When the door opened moments later, Tokio felt as if the air in the room grew thin. Something transpired in the gaze between the newcomer and Saitou that Tokio couldn't grasp. The young woman looked from the handsome young gentleman in the turquoise gi, to her husband, and back again. In the six years of being married to Saitou Hajime, Tokio had never, ever, ever, seen him turn pale like he did at that moment.  
  
The unlit cigarette hanging from Saitou's lips fell to the floor.  
  
Politely, Katsu began, "Little brother, I would like to introduce you to..."  
  
Saitou finished the sentence for Katsu.  
  
"Okita."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: I can't give you any spoilers for the next chapter, because that would just be....well, spoiling it. I think we're about halfway through the story now, and things should start to get -very- exciting in the next chapter. If you have been following the timeline, you've realized that were just now to the beginning of the RK anime series, if that gives you any indication.  
  
Historical Notes: Ok, from the webpages I read, Saitou did have an elder sister named Katsu. One page even indicates that his name really might have been Yamaguchi before he left home at age 19 for mysterious reasons.   
  
Character Notes: I'm sorry for springing three new supporting characters on you in one chapter. I hope it wasn't too confusing.   
  
Other Notes: Wrote a one-shot called "It's a Wonderful Life, Himura Kenshin", which RK fans might enjoy. Please check it out.  
  
Review Notes: Thank you to Kanon, Sephira_jo, kakashi_fan, Dark Flame, LSR-7, JadeGoddess, tgrlily8701, and nemesis for your kind reviews.   
  
Kyaa Kyaff: I agree. Not enough Saitou X Tokio fiction. Too much Saitou X Sanosuke fiction. Not that I have any problems with such pairings, but I just find that particular one creepy, myself.  
  
Animyth: I do have the ending planned out. I may have to change it, though, because every time I try to work on it, I start crying.  
  
Leila Winters: I hope there is enough Tokio-beating in this chapter for your taste. *duck*  
  
And to the Magnificent Ms. Cherry Delight: I apologize for not returning your emails as of yet. It has been quite a week! Anyway, I have to agree with you about Kume. I want to strangle her, too. Unfortunately, Kozue and Kume are necessary to later chapters. So, anyway, I finally got to mystery #2. Barely. I really don't know where all the length gets into these chapters. I start out thinking "I certainly don't have enough material for this chapter", and by the end I haven't even hardly begun to get to the point in the story I where I wanted to stop. I feel mildly annoyed that Saitou didn't get to pull any supercool moves in this chapter. Don't worry, he'll kill some people in the next chapter. I'm not letting him go soft, I promise! Anyway, I will try to answer your mail as soon as possible. :D  
  
Language Notes:   
  
shuko = iron claws  
  
tomesode = formal kimono worn by married women. 


	7. Chapter 7: Return of the Sharpest Blade

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 7 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
And returned the sharpest sword,  
  
From breast of shattered beast,  
  
A weary, worn and worthless man  
  
Bringing tidings of the peace.  
  
-Okita S. Meiji 13  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
As Tokio bent over to pick up the dropped cigarette, Saitou stared at the man in the doorway. Certainly, he looked slightly different. Okita had grown a few inches, and his childlike face had grown a bit more manly. He'd cut his hair, removing his samurai's high ponytail just as Saitou had done. Still, with all the changes, his eyes still shone with the remarkable light and unmistakable charisma that had drawn the lone wolf to become friends with the First Captain of the Shinsengumi.  
  
But, it was impossible. Absolutely and irrevocably impossible. Men did not come back from the dead. Ever. And no amount of wishing, praying, wailing or shouting could change that fact. The dead stayed dead. And Saitou Hajime knew for absolute certain that Okita Souji was dead. He knew, because he had -been- there when the other man died. He knew because it had been -his- wakizashi upon which Okita had committed seppuku to avoid lingering in his diseased state. Okita Souji was dead.  
  
This left two options. Either the man standing in front of him was a ghost. Or Katsu had pulled a very clever trick.  
  
And Saitou Hajime did not believe in ghosts.  
  
"What in the hell is going on here, Katsu?" he demanded. Tokio stepped to her husband's side, noting a tone in his voice that she had really never heard. A slight dissonance of confusion. He had, instinctually, put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Tokio laid her hand gently on his wrist, worried more about Katsu's foreign carpets than whatever might be the object of her husband's disturbed state. Although the man named Okita did not seem, to Tokio, to be much of a threat, she knew that if her husband believed he needed to die, he would die. "Whatever this is," Saitou continued, "I do not find it amusing."  
  
"My apologies, Saitou-san," the smiling man began. Indeed, he did sound exactly like Okita, his voice friendly and gentle, yet commanding respect at the same time. "I'm afraid you have the wrong idea, which I believe is exactly as your sister wished. I am Okita Seichii, twin brother of Okita Souji, with whom I am well aware you were acquainted. I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you, except that we have met several times before."  
  
Saitou said nothing to this for quite a while. He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, and in the process dislodged his wife's hand as well. After the color had returned to his face, he finally pronounced only two words. "I see."  
  
"Okita-san, this is my brother's wife, Tokio-san." Katsu said by way of introduction. Tokio bowed her head quietly in greeting. Seichii, on the other hand, smiled widely and sincerely.  
  
"Hello, Tokio-san. It is an honor."  
  
"Yare," Katsu declared, "Now that I've had my fun, let us all head to dinner, hm? I am certain that Okita-san would love to regale us all with an explanation." She put her hand on the bent arm of her boarder and headed off down the hallway, "Like most men, his most fanatical love is hearing himself talk."  
  
"This is the part where I pretend to be insulted, is it not, Katsu-san?" Seichii replied, chuckling good-naturedly as they walked down the hall together. "Really, that was most despicable of you, stealing all my gis save for the turquoise one. You know very well it was the color of the Shinsengumi uniform. With a sister like you, who needs enemies?"  
  
Tokio stood very, very still, waiting for her husband to make the first move. There had been many times in her marriage that she'd been unable to read her husband, and there had been a few times she'd completely expected him to kill her, or worse, leave her. But, nothing so sent a chill down Tokio's spine as when Saitou put on his very best Fujita Goro smile, offered his wife his arm, and said, "Come along, Tokio. Dinner is waiting."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Katsu seemed not to notice that her brother had started acting strangely. Far more interested in trading witty banter with Seichii, the matron of the group also had her hands full making sure everyone had enough food. Tokio found herself only mildly surprised that Katsu didn't serve any meat. Either the entire Yamaguchi family were vegetarians, or Katsu had made some small concession for her brother's sake that pride prevented her from pointing out.  
  
"As I said, Okita-san does like to hear himself talk, but then, he has such a natural gift with words, that few people ever request his silence. He's even made a career out of it. My illustrious boarder is a political speech writer. When those fat, stupid, greasy politicians need something sleek and elegant to say, they come to Okita-san for the words," Katsu informed Tokio as she offered the younger woman additional rice.  
  
Okita laughed and shook his head. "Katsu-san, you'll give them such a horrible impression of me. I have written a few speeches for politicians, true, but you know my calling is that of a poet." Tokio found she couldn't look away from the smiling man who had so disturbed her husband. His presence glowed like a warm, bright light. Tokio felt as if she had known Okita-san all of her life, as if he were immaculately trustworthy. How could such a guileless laugh hold any dishonesty or malice?  
  
Tokio smiled timidly as she hid her face behind the soup bowl she had lifted to her mouth.  
  
She could have been mistaken, but she believed she saw him smile back.  
  
"You said you would share your tale of how we have met before, Okita-san," Saitou said, still smiling as well.  
  
Seeing the two men smile at one another make Tokio shiver. 'The two smiles are so completely different,' Tokio thought, "Seichii looks so brilliant and confident. And Hajime looks...creepy. But, maybe I only think Hajime's smile is disturbing because I already know it to be fake. But, if Okita-san's smile is fake, then it is the most impenetrable mask and consummate acting I have ever seen. Save for my husband, I can almost always tell when someone is hiding something, if someone is up to something they shouldn't be. But, with Okita-san, I just can't tell."  
  
"Of course, Saitou-san. It would be my pleasure to tell you the whole story."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Souji was born seven minutes before me. Seven minutes. In the span of a life, seven minutes isn't much time at all. I often wonder if somehow our mother had moved a different way, if I had been picked up by that first nurse instead of by the second, if somehow by some tiny chance things had been reversed... I wonder if, had I been the older brother, Souji would be here today.  
  
At any rate, from the very first day, Souji was as healthy as any baby could be. And I, well, I caught everything. If even the most minor illness passed through town, I would catch it, and Souji would be spared.  
  
This didn't keep us apart, however. It takes much more than illness to drive a wedge between twins. Since I often was confined to my bed, Souji would bring the outdoors to me. He had this way of standing in a place and memorizing every little detail, even details you shouldn't be able to see. For instance, if he saw a bird's nest up in a tree, he could tell you how many eggs were in it. And nine times out of ten, he would be right. It was really amazing.  
  
So, he would tell me all about the outdoors, and in return, I would tell him all the wonderful stories I had read from my books or made up. We were brothers, we were best friends, we were each other. And I knew I didn't have to worry about being sick, because somehow...somehow I knew that as long as I was, Souji would be well. Souji would be playing outside, and running and laughing. And since we were almost the same person, then, to me, that was a lot like being well, also. If Souji ran, I was running. If Souji climbed a tree, I was also climbing a tree. It may not make any sense, but to understand my story, you have to realize how incredibly deep the bond between twins can be.  
  
Souji used to bring me the first blackberries of spring. In return, I'd steal a few jars of preserves from my mother's pantries and hide them to give them to him in the fall. Or he would catch fireflies in jars for me, and in return, I'd make him origami paper lanterns. We were brothers, but we were also the very best of friends.  
  
One day, shortly after my family moved to Mibu, Souji was "discovered". A gentleman named Kondou Isami found out that Souji had the ability to see and know things beyond normal perception. We were both nine then.  
  
Souji came to me one evening and sat on my futon. I had been writing and had fallen asleep on my writing book. I remember because the ink dried on my face and I had half of a horrible haiku written backwards on my cheek for two whole days.  
  
As I was trying to rub the ink off, Souji said, "I met this man, Sei-chan.  
  
He wants me to come study at his dojo to learn kenjutsu. He is even going to waive most of the costs."  
  
I was so excited for him, and at the same time horribly sad. But, since the dojo was in Mibu, our home town, he promised he would come home to visit as much as he could.  
  
And he did. He came home almost every day. Sometimes he could only stay for a few minutes before having to rush back. Souji told me everything, all about the dojo, the people there, and his lessons. I'd write stories for him to read when he was lonely or sad, and he always asked for more. But, I think most of all, we both liked to think that a piece of me went with him when he returned to the dojo.  
  
"I always carry your stories in the front of my gi, Seichii. I need your words to help make me a strong man."  
  
Those words were possibly the most compassionate thing anyone has ever said to me, because I wanted so desperately to be a help to my big brother.  
  
By the time Souji and I turned twelve, he could defeat almost everyone in the dojo except the master. A few times, my parents even took me to see some of the kendo exhibition matches. However, at that time I was pale and skinny and my head was shaved. No one even realized Souji and I were twins.  
  
Still, just as he promised, Souji kept coming to visit as often as he could. At times I would get a bit less ill, and my parents would let me sit in the garden, which I loved, because Souji would show me all of his great kata. Other times, I would be so sick that I could barely see or hear. But, I always knew when Souji was there, just sitting beside me, smiling for both of us.  
  
Souji found other ways for me to help him. He had Kondou-san let me write up fliers for the dojo when I was well enough. Or paint banners. You don't know how thrilling it is, for a sick boy, to be even the slightest bit helpful to a group of such strong men.  
  
By the age of fifteen, Souji had easily surpassed everyone else in the dojo. He started teaching himself new moves, purifying and perfecting old clumsy ones. But, he often confided in me that he wished he could find someone more at his skill level with which to spar.  
  
Which is why I remember, very clearly, the day you joined the dojo, Saitou-san. Souji rushed home to tell me all about the newcomer who had the most fantastic sword skills he had ever seen. He was so happy, and he swore he would make you his friend, so that he would always have someone strong enough to test his skills against.  
  
When we turned 18, I was more ill than I had ever been in my life. Often times, I couldn't even move from the neck down. None of the doctors could say what was happening to me, and often their "remedies" turned out to only make me even more sick. I felt certain that I would die soon.  
  
And then Souji came. He told me that he had been asked to join this new group that his master had started, a group that would go and protect Kyoto against the growing violence of the times.  
  
I begged. I pleaded. I cried. "Please Souji, please don't go. It is so dangerous in Kyoto. You could get killed."  
  
But, I know now that that real reason I didn't want my brother to leave was a selfish one. I knew I was going to die, and I didn't want to be alone when it happened. I knew that if I could just have Souji there at my side when I left this world, then everything would be alright. Because Souji and I were so close, if I knew he lived on, it would be as if I lived on, too. And knowing that, I could go to my final rest peacefully.  
  
I think Souji sensed what I was trying to tell him, sensed how afraid I was that I would never see him again. I felt him grab my hand. He looked at me and said in such a calm voice:  
  
"You've been so strong all these years, and I don't think you even realize it. It has been so easy for me to do everything I have done, but only because I know it has been so hard for you just to live. Don't worry, Seichii, you're the strongest brother. You won't die here alone."  
  
I knew, right then, that Souji had some control over our destiny that I would never understand.  
  
The next day, he left for Kyoto.  
  
And every day after that, my health returned more and more. By our next birthday, I was completely well for the first time in my life. My parents were ecstatic. For them, my health was a bright spot in an otherwise dreary era. For the Revolution had hit, and war was spreading throughout the area. Though, we knew, nowhere as horribly as in Kyoto.  
  
I wanted desperately to go to Kyoto to find Souji, but my parents forbid it. They said they were afraid that I could relapse into illness at any moment. But, I think they were more afraid they would be risking the life of two sons instead of just one.  
  
We hadn't heard directly from him in months, though we heard through various other sources about the amazing feats of the Shinsengumi.  
  
One day, as I walked home from the building where I had been working transcribing texts for various officials, a young man on a horse approached me. He introduced himself as a messenger of the Shinsengumi of Kyoto, and told me that I needed to gather my things, tell my parents that my brother had sent for me, and leave with him right away. How could I refuse?  
  
En route to Kyoto, the messenger gave me hooded cloak and told me to cover my face. When I asked why, he told me "You look far too much like your brother."  
  
I had never thought that looking like Souji would be a reason to -cover- my face. I was proud to be his twin. But, I did as the messenger asked.  
  
I was taken to Shinsengumi headquarters, and there I met the man I recognized as Kondou Isami. Souji, he said, had become violently ill.  
  
I laughed the first time he said it. "Souji doesn't get ill," I told him.  
  
"I get ill."  
  
But, then I saw the serious look on his face. He wasn't lying. I asked him why I had been sent for, and he related his plan. The Shinsengumi had decided to send Souji to a place with hot springs for a few weeks, in the hopes that the hot water would loosen up and help heal his lungs. Since his illness had been kept a secret from the men, they had decided to ask me if I would pretend to be Souji during that time so that no one would suspect that anything was wrong.  
  
I protested that I had never held a sword in my life. They said that although there would still be some danger, it would be unlikely I'd have to ever draw a sword. The First Company of the Shinsengumi, it would be announced, had been recently overworked and would not be sent out on nighttime assignments for a few weeks.  
  
And then Kondou told me something I will never forget.  
  
"Saitou Hajime will know something is going on. He won't let you fight."  
  
After that, they took me, fully covered of course, to see my brother. You can't imagine how overjoyed, and at the same time heartbroken, I was to be reunited with my brother. He tried to act cheerful, but he kept coughing, giant clots of red peppering the handkerchief he tried to hide from me. Always the big brother, he kept going on and on about how I didn't have to do this, how dangerous it was, and how if I got in trouble I should just run and not worry about damaging his reputation.  
  
And he kept repeating over and over, "I'm so glad you are well now, Seichii. So glad."  
  
They came and took him away a few hours later. Kondou returned after a few minutes with some written instructions and explanations of the inner workings and personalities of the Shinsengumi. I memorized them overnight, and in the morning I became Okita Souji.  
  
The easiest thing to do was to decide how to address people. I didn't know anyone's name, but would address them by their ranks, identifiable through their uniforms. "Captain" or "Soldier" seemed workable enough.  
  
Of course, who would I meet when I walked out of my room but the very person Kondou had mentioned.  
  
You, Saitou-san, you were leaning against a wall with your arms crossed. I thought right then that the whole plan would go down the drain, because you stared at me as though you knew something had happened. I half-expected you to draw your sword and strike me down, and it took everything I had to look you in the eye.  
  
But then you merely snorted and asked, "Not getting enough sleep, Okita? You look like shit. And you smell like horse shit. Have you taken to meditating in the stables?"  
  
I laughed, realizing who you were from my brother's descriptions. Trying to think what my brother might say, I replied, "Who can sleep, Saitou-san, when the glory and magnificence of the world presses against us at every moment, hot and ready like a supple woman?"  
  
"Hn," you replied, still staring at me, but with decidedly less malice. "Let's go to breakfast."  
  
Our combined troops went patrolling the streets of Kyoto that day. Kondou-san had told me to just stand back and let the other men do the work. He said that my brother wouldn't bother with such things, anyway, because they didn't constitute a worthy enough challenge for him. He'd let his men take the glory in such small and manageable battles. It turned out to be easier than I expected. The men seemed eager to impress me, or rather, my brother. It seemed the esteem that I held for Souji could be found reflected in his troops.  
  
But, patrolling during the day was to be the extent of the First Troop's duties until my brother returned. Kondou-san had warned me to keep near to headquarters in the evening, in case my face should be recognized by those forces inimical to the Shinsengumi.  
  
As for you, Saitou-san, you stayed rather close to my side. I couldn't tell if you did this because you and my brother were such good friends, or if you were trying to figure me out. Either way, you never voiced any opinion on either matter, so I decided not to worry about it.  
  
There were a few close calls, but I managed to avoid battle, and no one seemed to say a word about the fact that I never showed up to practice kata or spar with the other men.  
  
Souji returned on the fifteenth night, just as promised. I was so relieved to see him, and he did look much better than he had on the night he left. Late into the night we talked, Souji telling me tales of the Shinsengumi, and I told him about our family and our home.  
  
And we talked about our dream. See, Souji and I had always wanted to open a school together. I thought Souji had forgotten, but he hadn't, he was more passionate about it than ever.  
  
"After the uprising has ended, and order has been restored, there will be so many children without parents, without direction, without a strong sense of virtue. And we can teach them, Seichii. I can teach them budo, and you can teach them academics. We'll mold them to be great men, strong men. Men who will know how to prevent such horrible things from ever happening to our world again."  
  
I could only laugh. "It sounds great, Souji. But orphans don't pay much."  
  
Souji only shrugged, "Well. We have a while to figure out the specifics, Sei-chan."  
  
I didn't ask him about his illness. I couldn't. I couldn't even think about it. When I did, it felt like my own lungs ached, like I could feel his sickness mirrored in my body. I wondered if that was what Souji felt every time he looked at me when I was ill.  
  
I left under cover of night, but not before begging Souji to return home as soon as possible, and to remain safe.  
  
The Shinsengumi asked me to return twice more, once that spring and once the following fall. I am not sure if Souji forbid them for sending for me again, or if they just couldn't spare the time to let him get away anymore. But, my worse fear is that my brother just didn't want me to see how ill he had become. I think he realized that if I did, I would have refused to leave Kyoto again without him.  
  
We heard such horrible stories of the slaughter. Conflicting reports of how well the various sides were doing came every day. Most chilling were the descriptions of the Hitokiri Battousai. I knew after hearing about him that my brother would seek him out to fight him. Even though I had every confidence that Souji's sword skills had no equal, I feared that his illness would slow him down. Not by much, but just enough so that he could be injured or killed.  
  
But, he wasn't.  
  
Word arrived in the first year of Meiji that my brother had been discharged from his duties and removed to a hospital near Edo for treatment. Petrified, my parents immediately asked me to go to him, and when he was well enough, help him to return home.  
  
But, as fast as I could travel, somehow I already knew it was too late. I kept hearing over and over in my head my brother's voice saying, "I'm so glad you are well now, Seichii, so glad you are well."  
  
I drove my horse to the point of exhaustion, and it threw me into the snow a few dozen miles from Tokyo. I kept running and running, faster and faster, faster than I had ever run, faster than I knew I could run. I felt stronger and stronger, like I could rip apart the trees in my path, like I could swim the freezing rivers that stood between me and my brother.  
  
I knew. I knew he was dying. He was dying, and his strength was flowing out of him and into me. I yelled, I shouted, I screamed. "Don't die, Souji! I'll be there soon. Don't die. I won't let you die alone."  
  
I crumbled on the outskirts of Tokyo, unable to go any further. Some kind farmers found me and took me in. Apparently, in my fugue state, I begged them to go into town and check on my brother. They confirmed what I already knew. Souji had died around the same time I had collapsed in the snow.  
  
And the hospital was only seven minutes by foot from the place where I collapsed. Seven minutes. I missed him by only seven minutes. Just like when we were born.  
  
The next few months I can hardly remember. Just that my life seemed like a nightmare. I couldn't feel Souji. It was like one of my eyes had been cut out, like my hearing had gone dim. I had no direction, no purpose. Nothing made any sense to me. All I could think about was how I had failed my brother. How I had let him die alone.  
  
When I later found out that Souji committed seppuku, it shook me out of my daze. I grew angry. I couldn't understand for the longest time why. Why would Souji do that? We were supposed to be together, to build our school, build our lives.  
  
It came to me while I was visiting his grave one day. Something he had said to me the last time we were in Kyoto. "Don't worry, Seichii. You never let illness get the best of you, and I won't let this sickness defeat me, I promise."  
  
And Souji always kept his promises.  
  
After that, I decided that I needed to live my life to the fullest extent I could. Filled with joy and beauty and wonder. Because it was my duty to my brother to live and enjoy life...for the both of us.  
  
Because Souji and I...were like one person, as if we had too strong of a spirit to fit in one body, but not quite enough spirit to power two.  
  
A few years later, I met Katsu-san and she decided she liked my poetry enough to take me under her wing. I've been living here as her boarder ever since.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
By the end of the story, Saitou had dropped his Fujita Goro smile and merely sat, like his sister, chain-smoking and glaring into indeterminate space. Tokio, on the other hand, had decided, for lack of a better option, to use the edge of her scarf to remove something from the corners of her eyes.  
  
"Your brother sounds like a wonderful man, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, after deciding no one else was going to speak, "I am so very sorry for your loss. But, I must say you tell the story beautifully. I am sure he would be honored."  
  
Katsu exhaled a cloud of smoke with a curled lip of indignation, "I can't believe you bought that story, Tokio. I've written fiction novels that contain less fantasy."  
  
"Don't presume my wife a simpleton, Katsu, just because she has some decorum." Saitou's gaze oozed from his sister to Seichii. "Besides, he's telling the truth."  
  
'That ki,' Saitou mused, 'More than the way he looks, his ki misled me more than anything about him. Bright and gentle, yet with so much confidence, charisma, and vigilance. But stronger than Okita's, without the physical pain that Okita always struggled to cover. Okita's always seemed to be missing something, and I had thought the defect was because of his illness. Damn it, Okita, you should have told me. But you wouldn't, would you have?'  
  
"Okita did mention to me on occasion that he had a younger brother, one whom he intimated had been ill for quite a long time," Hajime added. "And I recall the events in question. I passed off the strangeness in Okita's behavior to his often whimsical nature and the rapidly-changing state of his health, as I am sure both Okita and Kondou-san assumed I would."  
  
"My, my, brother, are you admitting that your keen sense of perception is somehow less than perfect?" Katsu chided as she ashed her long cigarette into a nearby urn.  
  
"Yare, judging by your choices in interior design, dearest sister, it is still infinitely better than yours."  
  
"Why you jackass..." Katsu exclaimed, getting to her feet. "...and after I did you the favor of tracking you down to introduce you to Okita-san here."  
  
"Perhaps this will dissuade you from doing me any favors in the future, Katsu. I am a busy man, and have other things to do besides play witness to your witless humor and egotistical temper tantrums," Hajime returned, sneering through a veil of smoke. He, too, stood, not giving his sister the satisfaction of being able to physically 'look down' on him.  
  
As the conversation devolved into an acid bath of caustic comments between the two siblings, Tokio stared at her hands folded in her lap. 'This is so embarrassing. I should say something to Okita-san, but I doubt he would  
  
be able to hear me over this shouting. And every time I look at him, he is smiling so beatifically that I just forget whatever I might say anyway.'  
  
Thankfully, Okita spoke first. Leaning forward, he asked "Tokio-san, it seems your husband and Katsu-san have a great deal to discuss. Would you, perhaps, like to see Katsu-san's gardens?"  
  
Tokio glanced surreptitiously at her husband, who seemed to be in a sneering contest with his sister. Nodding minutely in response, Tokio didn't choke out the words, "That would be most pleasant," until the pair were already halfway out the door.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"It must be quite amazing to live in a house such as this, Okita-san," Tokio whispered as they walked among the manicured hedges. Lamps had been set along the pathways at staggered intervals by some servant, casting an uneven glow on the garden. Elaborate systems of streams and fountains interlaced themselves with the last vestiges of October flora. A wooden gazebo decorated in a hand-carved latticework depicting dragons breathing angular smoke sat on a short pier overlooking a manmade pond. It was to this structure that Okita Seichii led Saitou Tokio, offering her a hand with a genial smile to assist her up the two steep steps.  
  
"Ah yes," Seichii replied, ushering Tokio towards the view of the pond, "Life with Katsu-san brings a spicy vigor to every day. But, in reality, she has a goodness that most people will never comprehend. More than anything, she desires to show all women that they need not be servile, need not be instruments of their husbands' or fathers' whims. She wishes so desperately to inspire them to utilize their own strengths for their own dreams."  
  
"I have never seen a man or a woman able to match wits with Hajime," Tokio conceded. The light of a half moon rippled on the pond in the intermittent breeze, repeatedly shattering into dozens of shards and then re-coalescing with the death of the wind.  
  
"Ah yes. Her fiery wit has earned her quite a few unbecoming nicknames among the critics of her books. Nonetheless, they continue to sell exceedingly well, and women's' groups all over the country clamor to have her speak." Putting his hands on the railing of the gazebo, Seichii stepped up and bent forwards. His body doubled over the wooden divider as he ran his hand through the tall grass below. Immediately, two large objects shot upwards out of the weeds, squawking annoyedly before coming to land further out on the pond.  
  
"Ducks!" Tokio exclaimed in an excited whisper, "I thought they had all gone for the winter. However did you know they were there, Okita-san?"  
  
Returning from his half-flip over the rail, Seichii dusted off his gi with a warm grin, "Would you believe me, Tokio-san, if I said Souji told me?"  
  
"I might," Tokio replied, watching the graceful pair of birds glide over the surface of the water. Her mind thought back to the story told over dinner, the way the two brothers seemed unable to both share health and happiness at the same time. Fearing slightly that her question may be too bold, she nonetheless proceeded, for once putting faith in her estimation of the trustworthiness of the gentleman beside her, "Do you think, Okita-san, that there is a balance of pain and joy in this world? And if we revel or linger too much in one, we are sure to meet an equal measure of the other?"  
  
Seichii thought for a moment, putting his finger to his lips and tapping them as he looked upwards, "Well, Tokio-san, I think if every smile hides the fear that we shall never smile again, then it is not truly a smile at all. And if every laugh obscures a loathing for some unknown punishment we must later endure as payment, then all our laughter will be hollow."  
  
"I'm sorry, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, edging away from the handsome poet slightly. His words had resounded in her mind, challenging her worldview so eloquently that she recoiled both mentally and physically from the situation. "You probably think me terribly morbid. I really shouldn't have been so presumptuous as to..."  
  
"I like your presumptions, Tokio-san. Let us presume ourselves already longtime friends. That way you shall have no recourse but to call me Seichii."  
  
"Yes. I should like that a great deal, Seichii," Tokio replied timidly, "If you do not think it too impertinent."  
  
"I instinctually intimate impertinence is irrational in initiating interesting interpersonal interludes," Seichii opined, his quick alliteration causing Tokio to break into breathy giggles.  
  
"Is there no end to the talents you possess, Seichii?" Tokio whispered, her eyes filling with wonder at the exuberant gentleman before her.  
  
Seichii suddenly took on a grave air, his smile melting into a curt frown.  
  
Taking the young woman's hands in his own, he gazed solemnly into her eyes and spoke, "Yes, Tokio-san. I must admit my greatest imperfection. I am completely unable to look utterly frightening while smoking profusely."  
  
With that, they both broke into a fit of laughter.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Katsu opened the ornate wooden door and stepped aside, allowing her brother to enter the room. Entering and pulling the door closed behind her, she walked to opposing wall and pulled open a pair of flowing sheer curtains to reveal the mammoth gardens below. Hajime didn't seem to be impressed. Instead, he turned and examined the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls. He pulled one of the books from its spot, shook a bit of dust off of it rather roughly and thumbed through the pages. Katsu stood, puffing on the end of her cigarette holder for a few minutes before accosting her sibling.  
  
"Well, brother, what do you think?"  
  
"I think your writing is the same as always, Katsu, simpering tripe that appeals to bored housewives and teenage girls with overactive imaginations." Saitou snapped the book shut with one hand and slid it back into its place.  
  
"Yes. I forgot, if it isn't about some bloody historical war or excruciatingly boring battle tactics, you aren't interested," Katsu returned, "On another note, you seem to have procured yourself a lovely wife, at the very least. I'd love to hear the story of how you roped that poor girl into marriage one of these days."  
  
"And have it end up on the pages of one of your novels? I think not." Saitou joined his sister at the window, looking out at the two individuals in the gazebo beyond who seemed to be enjoying each other's company quite a bit. "But yes, Tokio is a fine woman."  
  
"There are no children, though?"  
  
Saitou's face dropped from a scowl to a simple frown as he watched his wife take Seichii's arm to be led on the path back towards the house, "No.  
  
Tokio is unable. We tried, and she miscarried."  
  
Katsu turned her head to look at her brother, her tone for once dropping from caustic to concerned, "I'm sorry, Jirou."  
  
"Hn," Saitou grunted, "And you? Okita-san is your suitor, I suppose?"  
  
"No. I prefer the freedom of my unmarried state. Seichii is merely my prodigy and boarder, and nothing more. I travel often, so it is agreeable to have someone competent to look after the place whilst I am gone."  
  
"So, how did you find me, Katsu?"  
  
The tall woman clicked her fingernails noisily, "I'm fairly certain you knew I lived here. Why didn't you find me?"  
  
As Tokio and Seichii passed underneath the window, Saitou replied, "You know why."  
  
"Because you didn't want me involved in your life, for my own safety."  
  
"Aa," Saitou said. "It was a stupid thing you did...getting involved, Katsu."  
  
Katsu let out a deep sigh as she drew the curtains, "Jir-kun, we may not be twins like Souji and Seichii. We may not even be close. But you are still my little brother, an ass, but my brother nonetheless."  
  
"What is your point?" Saitou asked.  
  
"My point is that if you think my safety is compromised by merely contacting you, I can't imagine the perpetual threat to your wife's life. Are you sure that she might not be better off without you? Are you not just acting selfishly by keeping her in constant danger? From what I have seen, she'd go if you told her to do so."  
  
Saitou glared at his sister, his long bangs striping his face in splinters of shadow. He knew she had a point, but sending Tokio away would be unthinkable. "That is none of your goddamn business, Katsu."  
  
"Fine!" Katsu exclaimed, slamming her hand down on a nearby desk, "You are so damned insufferable. I have no clue how we could be related. Why if I didn't know better..."  
  
Katsu stopped as she heard voices in the hallway, or rather one voice, Seichii's. "A black cat named Snowflake? That is devilish, Tokio-san. I am sure the poor thing has a complex." After a few moments, the young man spoke again, apparently in reply to the voice to quiet to discern, "Cats should be fat. Fat and infinitely lazy, so we can all envy their lifestyle. Who wants to be the cat that has to chase mice all day long?"  
  
The four were reunited in the library. Pleasant conversation flowed for a few minutes, and then Saitou remarked that he and his wife had to be leaving. Katsu and Seichii escorted the Saitous downstairs and saw them into their carriage.  
  
"Thank you for the lovely evening, Katsu-san," Tokio whispered, "You and Okita-san shall have to let me cook for you sometime in return."  
  
"I'd like that, Tokio. Now, you don't be a stranger. Come around and see your sister-in-law anytime, mm? Especially if you need to vent about that stubborn man you married," Katsu cackled and turned around abruptly to return to the house, refusing to say goodbye to her brother.  
  
"Goodbye, Saitou-san, Tokio-san. Have a safe journey home," Seichii called from the porch where he was almost bowled over by Katsu's ferocious retreat into her house.  
  
Tokio exhaled a small breath of relief as the carriage rambled over the streets of Tokyo, transporting them back home. It had been an exhausting evening, filled with surprise and sadness and newfound friends. Her husband sat next to her, his brows furrowed at sharp angles, looking as if his glare might bore a hole into the opposite side of the berth. She knew just by that look that there would be no talking to him this evening without having to bear the barbs and nettles of his scathing wit. So, instead, she merely leaned her head against his shoulder, and fell fast asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime ashed his cigarette onto the barren ground. The last plants of the season had withered and left only the hard packed earth in their wake. He wore a very simple gi and hakama set, and had smudged a bit of dirt on the sleeve earlier for a bit of authenticity. Against his back, hidden beneath the basket labeled "Medicine", his unnamed katana pressed. His two underlings, rather uninteresting officers assigned to employ, loitered under a nearby tree. The three men went characteristically unnoticed in the seedy neighborhood, where tiny scraps of banners once nailed to the trees fluttered in the breeze, and not a single fence seemed to stand straight and unbroken.  
  
The lone wolf displayed one more displeased snarl as he looked at the house in front of him. Something had been rubbing him the wrong way for a few weeks, like an itch in his mind that he couldn't quite soothe. All of Tokyo just smelled wrong, like someone had dumped a load of rotten fish and covered it with a ton of rose petals. Just below the surface, just below where everything seemed normal and functional and correct some foreign entity had begun to eat away at the core. A worm. A worm in the apple.  
  
Underneath his skin, he could feel something trying to burn his blood. Something calling to him, waiting for him, warning him. The air. Every day it seemed a bit harder to breathe easy. His mouth tasted of metal. His eyes stung as if accosted with the soot and ash of a burning city.  
  
The fact that he couldn't place this feeling was...irritating. Exceedingly irritating.  
  
Pushing aside his thoughts, Hajime forced the corners of his mouth to and eyes to upturn in a mockery of polite cheerfulness. His posture slacked only slightly, and he forced his long, quick strides to slow. With only a nod to the other two officers, he approached the door and knocked.  
  
A bulky looking man in an orange gi opened the shoji about a half foot. "Yeah? What do you want?"  
  
"Pardon me, sir, my name is Fujita Goro and I am a medicine salesman. Are you the gentleman of the house?"  
  
Turning his head to call back into the room the man said, "Its just a medicine salesman." A voice from inside replied, "Yeah? Ask him if he has anything for this rash on my foot."  
  
"Eh. Well, come on in, I guess," the burly man said, opening the shoji.  
  
Fujita Goro stepped inside, nodding politely to his host. Inside he found around a dozen men, all in various stages of relaxation, several gambling, and several more leaning against the walls passing a jug of sake back and forth. The place smelled of mold and rotten food. It seemed doubtful that the room had encountered a woman's touch in some time.  
  
As the medicine salesman untied the sashes which held the large basket in place, several of the men all asked him questions at once. "Hey, do you have anything for warts?" "I have this cough that won't go away, whatcha got for that?" "What about something to help you sleep?"  
  
Fujita Goro stood back up, one hand on the lid of the basket, as if he were about to throw it open and reveal his wares, launching into a pre-scripted banter about the quality of the goods. Instead, the corners of his lips slid downwards and his eyes turned from cheerful to diabolical slits containing amber fires. "It would be useless to cure your ailments.  
  
Since you are all going to die very soon."  
  
Several of the men jumped to their feet. Others just simply asked, "What in the hell?"  
  
"The yakuza is contemptible," Saitou declared, "Especially when you corrupt or blackmail children into your service." The ex-captain of the Shinsengumi reached over his shoulder and pulled out the secreted katana.  
  
"You mean he's not a medicine man? Shit, Dojaki, you're an idiot to have let him inside."  
  
"Oh no, I will be curing something today. In that respect I did not lie," Saitou replied, leveling his katana at a cluster of men wielding a mixture of bokkens and swords. "I will be curing the city of Tokyo of your presence."  
  
Blood began to coat the walls of the yakuza hideout like a fresh application of slimy paint. Men fell easily, hardly a match for the Wolf of Mibu. Saitou watched, almost detachedly, as his sword split arms from shoulders, heads from necks, cleaved bodies in twain. He felt careless, not even noticing that his own face and hands had become slick with gore. He just wanted the smell of blood to cover that strange scent that had been bothering him for weeks. He wanted it to soak into his skin and cure the itch that lay just beyond his scratch. Death. Death, somehow, would be the only cure for the strange sickness that had come to settle on his mind like a plague of invisible locusts.  
  
When the last man all but impaled himself on Saitou's sword, the blood-drenched cop headed for the back shoji. He checked the rest of the house but found no other occupants. Likely they had fled only to find his assistants waiting at the front and back door.  
  
Flicking the blood from his sword, Saitou headed to the back yard. One of the officers nodded to him, his eyes growing a bit wide upon realizing the superior officer was completely drenched in blood. The officer's partner sat nearby, holding a plump old man at knifepoint. The old man seemed covered in grime and sweat.  
  
"Where is the boy?" Saitou demanded, not bothering to wipe his face before pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his gi. Tiny pools of blood began to form at the Miburo's feet as the crimson liquid dripped from his hakama.  
  
"What? I don't...look I don't know what you mean...this is a simple gambling house," the old man lied...and badly.  
  
Hajime was silent while lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, watching the man with liquid gold eyes before exhaling a stream of smoke. "Kill him," Saitou said offhandedly to the officer holding the knife.  
  
"No, no, no. Wait...wait. I'll cooperate. What do you want to know?" The old man inched away from the knife, but as his back was against a tree, he was unable to go anywhere and only succeeded in scraping his heels against the trunk.  
  
"You are the yakuza boss for this area of Tokyo," Saitou said, approaching the man. "But now your men are all dead. Now. If I have to repeat myself again, you will suffer the same fate. Where is the boy named Myojin?"  
  
"Myo...Myojin? You mean...Yahiko?" The old man was, by now, shaking violently. One leg of his grey hakama became darker, the odor of urine filling the air. "He...he's gone. Some girl came...and some swordsman. They took Yahiko just a few days ago."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou drawled, "Yare, I suppose we have some time to find out how true that is. We'll be taking you to jail. For now. Other arrangements may have to be made should you run out of useful information."  
  
Saitou stepped back and allowed the officer to make the arrangements to transfer the yakuza boss to police headquarters. The other officer approached the Miburo after a few moments, carrying Saitou's police uniform and a towel. Hajime stepped back inside the house and spent a few moments changing and cleaning himself off. Afterwards, he briefly searched the house for incriminating documents.  
  
Satisfied that nothing else useful could come from the yakuza headquarters, Saitou knocked over a nearby oil lamp and tossed his lit cigarette into the pungent liquid.  
  
As he stood outside watching the building, making sure the fire would burn the entire structure, the expert swordsman crossed his arms. Easy. Too easy. There hadn't been a challenging fight on the horizon for a long time now. He suspected vaguely that the lack of worthy opponents had something to do with his agitated mood. Not that an opponent really need to be worthy. An opponent just needed to die. Still, still, that feeling pricked him, like thorns in his bloodstream.  
  
The peaceful city of Tokyo smelled of war.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Are you certain, Tokio-san, that I am not interrupting your day?" Seichii asked as the pair strolled through the streets of Tokyo. "That young friend of yours uttered quite a few expletives when I dared to draw you away from the marketplace."  
  
"Yes, I must apologize for Naoya-chan. She can be quite...ah, vociferous," Tokio replied, "But, I am glad you came by, Seichii. Might I possibly ask where we are heading?"  
  
Seichii took a deep breath, as if trying to draw the entire world into his lungs. He carried a covered bucket at his side, which he swung back and forth merrily, as if he were still a child rather than a man in his early thirties. "I thought I should enjoy some company whilst exploring the fragrant and glorious springtime."  
  
Tokio's eyebrows shot upwards in a look of both surprise and mild concern.  
  
"I...I..." The young woman laid one timid hand on the wrist of the poet at her side, "Okita-san...Seichii...you do realize that it is autumn, yes?"  
  
"Ah, Tokio-san," the poet sighed, "It need not -be- springtime to -enjoy- springtime."  
  
Okita led Tokio to a deserted park on the outskirts of the city. The autumn colors had even faded away to a uniform orange-brown. Remaining leaves, dry and desiccated in their cycle of death, rattled like bones in the northern breeze. A musty scent, the aroma that Tokio always associated with uselessness, wafted through the grove as detached leaves stirred themselves on the ground.  
  
Seichii pulled a thin blanket from the front of his gi and spread it on the ground. "I've brought lunch, Tokio-san. I hope you'll do me the honor of sharing it with me. If possible, without laughing at my cooking skills."  
  
"How wonderful, Seichii," Tokio exclaimed, the rustling of the dry leaves in the trees mimicking her quiet voice. She kneeled on the blanket, and the poet sat beside her, opening the wooden bucket to reveal it had been packed to the brim with food and two flasks of water. "But tell me, how do you intend to enjoy springtime?"  
  
"Ah, Tokio-san!" Seichii replied, taking a small rice cake and coating it in orange jelly. "It is a most important task, you see, for a poet to use his imagination. Why, if I close my eyes right now, I can hear spring already. Yes. The brook over there, it is filled with the most amazing fish. Every color, red and blue pink and silver. The children are laughing as the young boys tie their pants up, wading into the water to catch the fish. The girls on the shore clap their hands in appreciation until one of the more bold boys splashes them. Their squeals and shouts echo throughout the park."  
  
The poet smiled and took a bite of his rice cake. After a moment, he continued, "And over there, over there stands a tree covered in white blossoms. So heavy with perfumed petals that it seems as if it must ache from bearing the burden of keeping so much ephemeral softness from floating away. Below its branches, a pair of lovers sit, their arms entwined as the world melts from view. They whisper the words that all lovers believe they must be the only people on earth to utter so sincerely. Vows and promises and desires. A butterfly lands on the man's nose just as he is saying he will always protect her. She laughs, and he blushes only for her."  
  
Tokio raptly watched her friend as he spoke. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her a moment, no, looked into her, seemingly grabbing some essential core long dormant within her chest and coaxing it out of its hibernation. "What else?" Tokio breathed, "What else do you see, Seichii?"  
  
"I see a woman who has been scarred by the world, who has lived through tragedy and learned to smile meekly through pain. A woman with brilliant honey-colored eyes that portray no malice towards any creature. She dances in that field there, dances among the flowers, having thrown off the shackles on her heart. She dances until her scarf flies away in the breeze, to be returned by her children. They join hands and dance in a circle as she raises her lustrous voice towards the heavens and teaches them her favorite song."  
  
Tokio realized she hadn't breathed the entire time Seichii had been speaking. She drew in air slowly, almost worried that the very atmosphere might be so thick as to fill her lungs and drown her. Seichii hadn't looked away from her eyes, not once. Not even in her most hopeful dreams had she ever even dared to permit herself to think about such happiness. "I'm afraid I can't permit myself to imagine that one, Okita-san."  
  
"That is quite alright, Tokio-san. I shall imagine it for you," Seichii replied quietly. He put his hand on top of Tokio's. The young woman could feel that the poet's skin had a silken softness to it, unlike her husbands' hands, which were riddled with tiny scars and thick calluses. "I apologize, Tokio-san, I did not mean to make you sad. I just feel as if  
  
you understand what it is like to forever live in the shadow of someone else. My brother may be dead, but his reputation lives on, perhaps will always live on, into history. I love him, and I carry him with me in more ways than most people will believe, but..."  
  
Tokio turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with those of her friend. Clutching his hand tightly, she whispered, "I do understand, Seichii. It seems as if there is no chance of happiness for a shadow, only the possibility to forever follow the footsteps of another, more determined being. But, Seichii, you do not need to appear in history books to be a great man."  
  
"I worry daily, Tokio-san, that I waste the gift that my brother gave me," Seichii replied, "That I have not done enough with my life. I do not want to fail him." Okita Seichii looked up at the grey autumn sky, attempting bravely to smile, but giving up with a sigh. His deep brown eyes seemed to be searching the heavens for an answer.  
  
"I worry, too, Seichii. I worry that I will somehow fail my husband. Fail to be strong for him when he needs me, fail to be the kind of woman he is proud and glad to return to after his days." Tokio bit her lip a bit and then whispered, "Look at us, so mournful and worried, when springtime is all around us, ne?"  
  
Seichii laughed brightly, "I'm glad, Tokio, that you can see it too."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Entering the dim room, the young serving girl had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted. Only one candle shed any light on the room's occupant, a young man with ribbons of long hair that glinted a deep purple even in the darkness. His eyes, a shocking chartreuse, captured the girl in their gaze one second before a knife flew past her head and embedded itself in the wall.  
  
The girl squeaked as she clutched the shoji with one hand and a crumpled piece of paper with the other.  
  
Snarling, the young man stood and walked past the servant to dig his knife out of the wall. "Well? What do you want?"  
  
"A message from Tokyo, sir."  
  
The purple-haired gentleman grabbed the paper from the girl and grumbled, "Get out." All but stumbling over her own feet, the servant scurried away as quickly as possible.  
  
Pushing his wild purple bangs out of his face, the well-built man returned to sitting near the candle. Holding the paper up to its light, he read for several minutes before crumpling the missive in his fist and tossing it against the opposite wall.  
  
"So. Yamaguchi Katsu has finally contacted her brother. And his wife is none other than Tanagi Tokio. This should be exceedingly interesting."  
  
Green eyes blazing, the man quickly drew his knife across his palm. Watching the blood welling there, he whispered, "I will reject honor, duty, and loyalty until my mission is complete. The Lone Wolf of Mibu will fall by my blade, and Tanagi Tokio will be returned to my master. I swear it."  
  
Turning his hand, the sneering youth allowed droplets of blood to extinguish the candlelight with a hiss.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Perhaps I should return to the market, Seichii. I fear that Naoya-chan may start a street brawl and get the cart overturned," Tokio whispered. They had eaten past the point of fullness, and the laughter they had shared in the meantime threatened to give both of the picnic goers stomachaches.  
  
"Hai!" Seichii said with a smile, "But let me walk you back, at least, Tokio-san. I need to walk off some of this food lest I explode like a festival fireworks display."  
  
The pair returned through the streets of Tokyo, neither seeming to be in any particular rush as they enjoyed the early afternoon weather. They reached the marketplace sometime later. As usual, the square bustled with people, but Tokio noted the crowd wasn't as bad as in the early morning or late afternoon. Most people, she assumed, had gone indoors to find some lunch.  
  
"Naoya-chan," Tokio said, approaching her own cart and the bored-looking fourteen year old. "Did everything go well? Did you get lunch?"  
  
"Yeah," Naoya answered, sitting up straighter as her mentor approached, "I sold most everything on the cart today, Tokio-san. You should leave me in charge more often. But, I didn't get anything to eat and I am fuck all hungry."  
  
Tokio winced at the expletive, though the poet at her side merely laughed and handed Naoya the picnic bucket. "I think there's some food left in there, if you want. Some wonderful jellies that Katsu-san brought back from the south..."  
  
The three stood together, discussing everything from jelly to Tokio's favorite embroidery pattern to Seichii's theories on the unseasonable weather. Tokio sat on her stool, and Okita Seichii leaned against the cart. Naoya, for the most part, shoveled food unceremoniously into her mouth.  
  
Tokio glanced around the marketplace, her empire. Men and women in their autumn colors passed back and forth, ambling from stall to stall, pointing at the wares, calling to each other, haggling with the vendors. The sun dipped behind a cloud for only the span of a sigh, and then returned once again to shine on the merchants and their customers.  
  
Suddenly, Tokio's sewing basket dropped from her grasp and tumbled to the ground, rolling into the lane. Her eyes grew wide as her gaze followed the smiling figure weaving through the marketplace.  
  
"Tokio-san....?" Seichii asked quickly, noting the sudden change in the woman's face, from smiling to stricken.  
  
Tokio clutched at her throat, clawing at her scarf as if it suddenly choked her. The man passing between the stands disappeared briefly behind two tall farmers, and Tokio craned her head to the left.  
  
When he reappeared again, she saw him clearly.  
  
Red hair.  
  
Cross shaped scar.  
  
Tokio's mind flashed. Death. Running. Falling. Bleeding...trying to scream...trying to scream and only tasting blood.  
  
The Hitokiri Battousai walked right past Saitou Tokio's cart.  
  
Tokio's eyes rolled back into her head as she felt herself falling. Falling off her stool. Falling in the woods. Falling into darkness.  
  
In her head, she heard her mother's voice say gently, "You should not wish for too much happiness, Tokio. As women, it is our duty to draw sorrow from the overflowing wells of this world."  
  
And then silence washed over the mind of Saitou Tokio.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapters: What sort of relationship is growing between Okita and Tokio? Who is the purple-haired man and what lengths will he go to destroy the Saitou's lives? Will Saitou flip out when he finds out the Battousai is still alive? Will Tokio be alright?  
  
Character Notes: I hope this explains the cliffhanger from the last chapter well enough. I couldn't give you Okita Souji, but hopefully his brother is close enough. Also, there really -is- a point to Naoya's presence, I promise, though it won't become clear until towards the end of the story.  
  
Historical Notes: Ok. I obviously fudged Okita's life a bit to fit in Seichii, who is fictional. But, he really -was- a prodigy and able to defeat most men by the age of 12.  
  
Plot Notes: I do not know if it is clear, but in our story Saitou arrived to "save" Yahiko just a few days after Kaoru and Kenshin busted him out of the yakuza. Imagine what that boy would have been like under -Saitou's- tutelage. Yeah. Scary. Also, if you go back and read the opening verse, it will probably make more sense. Seichii's poem, of course, is about Kenshin.  
  
Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers of the last chapter. I'm overjoyed that you like this story as much as I like writing it. Again, thank you to dadsnavygirl831, Dark Flame (I can't tell you that!), Dragowolf, Elyra-chan, kakashi-fan (I'll try not to make it too sad), tgrlily8701, JadeGoddess, and IceRain. (And anyone else who reviewed!)  
  
LSR-7: I hadn't heard that he killed his father, but that might be true! If you find your source again, let me know. Also...yeah. It was -really- hard to figure out how Saitou would react to seeing Okita again, I may have to rethink that later.  
  
Tessira Aleyn - I read your review probably 12 times. Thank you soooo much for reading and for your kind words.  
  
Animyth - I found some very wicked doujinshi scans of Aoshi and Saitou in...ooo...kissy mode with each other. *blush* I don't know if I find that cute or utterly terrifying.  
  
Cherry Delight - Well, I hope it was worth the wait. It only took me, what, like 3 chapters to finally reveal the mystery? I like that you called Saitou the International Man of Mystery. He's make such a wicked James Bond, don't you think? Except, he couldn't do that whole "shaken...not stirred" thing, since he doesn't drink. Hope you aren't too disappointed about the lack of THE LOVE in this chapter. Don't worry, there will be more of those great Hajime and Tokio moments in the future. :D  
  
Glossary Notes:  
  
So ka - Is that so?  
  
. 


	8. Chapter 8: Rise of the Hachinisasareru

Disclaimer: I -still- don't own these characters, except for the ones I made up. Nonetheless, RK does not belong to me. Yet. *narrows eyes*  
  
Ok. I lied about taking a break. I couldn't write anything else because I kept thinking of things for this story. My apologies.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 8: ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Tokio-san? Tokio-san!" Okita Seichii called to his friend. Moments before, she had all but crumbled, lurching forwards and then tumbling off of her stool. He had barely caught the younger woman as she fainted. Bending at the knees, he gently lowered Tokio to the ground as Naoya hopped off her own stool and crouched beside him in the shadow of the cart.  
  
"Oi, Okita-san, what happened?" Naoya asked. The usually brash young woman put her hand against Tokio's forehead. "I seen men pass out from overheating before, but it's a cool day, and Tokio-san isn't feverish or anything."  
  
"I don't know," Seichii replied quietly, "Maybe...maybe something she ate or..." The poet remembered that Tokio had been clawing at the scarf at her neck. Very gently, he reached down to untie the knot that held the long silk scarf in place. Tilting Tokio's head forward with one hand, he unwrapped the material with the other.   
  
When the skin of Tokio's neck was revealed, both Naoya and Seichii gasped.   
  
"Shit. I knew she had a scar, but that is fucked up," Naoya muttered. "What in the hell happened to her, anyway?"  
  
"I don't know, Naoya-chan, I don't know." Seichii tried shaking the slumbering woman, patting her cheeks in an attempt to wake her, "Tokio-san?"   
  
"She's not waking up, Okita-san. What are we gonna do?" Naoya asked, deferring to the older of the pair as the concern in her voice heightened.  
  
"Help me put Tokio in the cart, if you would. We'll take her to her house. Then I'm going to send you for a doctor I know while I try to see if I can get her to wake up."  
  
"Hai!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime ambled home via the back alleyways of the city of Tokyo. He'd wiped most of the blood from his face and hands, but he could feel and smell it rapidly clotting in his hair and under his fingernails. It wasn't that he loathed the smell of blood, though the odor truly wasn't particularly pleasant. No. It just set all of his senses ablaze, caused his pulse to quicken, and made his muscles burn with tension.   
  
At least, if he knew his wife, and he did, she'd have a bath ready for him when he returned home. And the only question she would ask would be "Are you injured?"  
  
Hajime knew other officers returned to homes full of chatter, full of boisterous children and sweetly cheery wives. They placed aside the mask of authority they wore on a daily basis and returned to being simple men, husbands and fathers.   
  
Other officers were not assigned to slaughter entire yakuza contingents.  
  
Not that Saitou despaired of his duties. You couldn't jail one section of the yakuza without expecting reprisals from the others. No. You had to completely demolish them, without a trace, leaving the other gangs no idea upon whom to direct their anger.  
  
No. He was not a simple man. That place was occupied by Fujita Goro, a fake, a cover.  
  
Saitou Hajime did not wear a mask once he drew his sword. And his wife did not ask him to wear one when he returned home.   
  
The tall cop hopped a fence and continued down another alleyway. Seconds later, he jumped down from the roof of a shed on a property behind the house on Taito street, landing in his own backyard. Walking around the side of the house, Saitou noticed that the vents for the iron oven were still closed.   
  
Odd. Usually Tokio had started been baking for the next day in the marketplace long before Saitou returned home. In the front yard, Hajime found that their horse, Stormy, was still hooked up to the two-wheeled wooden cart, which had not yet been unloaded.  
  
As Hajime turned towards the front shoji, his heels making a grating sound against the stone pathway, it slid open. Okita Seichii stepped outside, his characteristic smile nowhere in sight.   
  
Hajime's mind reeled. He'd seen this scene before, only months earlier. Just like in Osaka. This felt just like it did when he returned home from the Seinan Wars. Except, instead of Kozue, it was Okita Seichii. The muscles in Saitou's arms tightened as his hands balled into fists.  
  
"Saitou-san..." Seichii began, sliding the door closed behind him.   
  
"My wife..." Saitou said, though, it came out more as an animalistic growl than anything coherent.  
  
Seichii's voice sounded low and clear, "Tokio-san fainted in the market. We've been unable to wake her. A doctor is with her now, as is Naoya."  
  
Hajime's teeth grit against each other in his mouth. Did this have something to do with the strange smell in the air, with the prickling sensation in the back of his mind? Certainly Tokio had not been able to become pregnant again so quickly, certainly she would have told him... No, this must be something else.   
  
"It was very sudden," Seichii continued, "And then she started clawing at her scarf, trying to take it off. The next moment, she fell. Naoya and I...we took off her scarf afterwards and..." The usually bright-eyed man leaned against one of the engawa's posts, his mouth drawn in a thin line that seemed to be as close to a frown as his facial expressions would permit. "What happened to her, Saitou-san?"  
  
"After the Hitokiri Battousai killed her parents, she ran to hide in a forest. Tokio fell and punctured her throat," Saitou replied, though his mind wasn't really on the conversation. Instead, he had been trying to decide if he should go in and shake the doctor roughly until some reason for Tokio's sudden illness had been produced. Things should not happen in the household of Saitou Hajime without his knowledge.  
  
"Ah...Saitou-san...you do realize that there is blood dripping down your neck, I hope? Should I fetch the doctor to look at you as well?"  
  
"It is not my blood," Saitou replied.  
  
"Well, perhaps you should wash it off before the others come outside?" Seichii suggested, his voice growing quiet.   
  
"Aa. Perhaps." Hajime glowered at the other man, "But first you will tell me why -you- are here, Okita."  
  
Seichii's eyebrows raised slightly in alarm at the sharp tone of the other man's voice. Immediately, his face softened into a wistful look of recollection, "I took Tokio-san to have a picnic in the park. I asked her to go because she is my friend, and she seems like a person who doesn't often get the chance to smile. Do you find that improper of me, Saitou-san?"  
  
Hajime merely sneered. He could literally feel the tips of his fingers bruising the insides of his hands though his gloves as he clenched his fists even tighter. A cool amber gaze traveled up and down the length of the shorter figure. And that was when Saitou realized for the first time that Okita Seichii was a dangerous man.  
  
He was dangerous because he contained no malice, he concealed no motivation. His smile was not a mask he hid behind. But, unlike Kozue, Seichii had the brilliance to flawlessly back up his every move.  
  
Dangerous because Okita Seichii burned with righteousness, loyalty, and a passion for life.  
  
Just...like...his...goddamn...brother.  
  
"Hmph. I've never cared what Tokio does with her days," Hajime finally replied, turning to head towards the bathhouse. "Tell the doctor to stay put. Send Naoya home."  
  
Once inside the small stand-alone building, Saitou all but tore off the outer shirt of his uniform, bursting several buttons in the process. He tossed the wadded bundle of fabric to the side, too angry to go through his usual process of diligently folding it into a tight square bundle. After his gloves joined the pile, Saitou picked up a bucket of water drawn from the well, bent forward, and poured it over his head. The icy liquid dripped down his face and neck, creating artic trails of wetness over his sharp jaw line. As the swordsman sat on the edge of the bath, his head lowered, watching the water pool on the floor he wondered when exactly his life had become so goddamn complicated.  
  
After repeating the process with two more buckets of water, Saitou retrieved his cigarettes. Ignoring the growing dampness from the on the front and back of his black undershirt from the water dripping from his hair, he lit his match and inhaled.  
  
'Damn Seichii and damn Katsu. I will not doubt my actions. I've sworn to never doubt my actions, not with my sword, and not with my wife. I will not send her away, and I will not treat her with kid gloves. Tokio may seem delicate, but she is not. She is perfectly capable of...'  
  
A sharp knock sounded at the bathhouse door. "Ah...Fujita-san," the cheery voice called, "The doctor wishes to speak to you."   
  
His cigarette still hanging from his mouth, Saitou stepped out into the brisk October air. Next to Seichii, a plump and wizened old gentleman in a doctor's frock stroked his own chin in thought.  
  
Glaring down at the two men standing in front of him, Hajime said only, "Well?"  
  
"Fujita-san, this is Gensai-sensei," Seichii said, indicating the other man with his hand. "He says Tokio-san should be fine."  
  
"Yes," Gensai-sensei continued, "Tokio-san seems to be in the best of health."  
  
The still-damp cop narrowed his eyes as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He didn't like this goddamn quack already. Doctors were never to be trusted. "Then what the hell is wrong with her?"   
  
"Well, I've only seen this a few other times. Your wife, it seems, is just sleeping. An extremely deep sleep. This sort of thing is usually brought on by being forced to confront some aspect of a traumatic past, we believe. Her mind just simply shut down, unable to handle it. Really, it is best to just let her continue to sleep. Waking her up before her mind is ready to deal with the situation could cause her to become very violent, depressed, or disoriented," the doctor explained.  
  
"So, how long is she going to sleep, Gensai-sensai?" Seichii asked quietly.  
  
Shaking his head, the doctor replied, "Could be hours. Could be days. But, someone should be there when she wakes. When she does, she'd best rest for a few days afterwards. Nothing stressful for Tokio-san, ok?"  
  
"Right!" Seichii chirped. Saitou, on the other hand, stepped off the bathhouse's small porch with a resounding "Hn. And this is modern medicine?"  
  
As Saitou walked towards the front shoji of his house, Seichii showed Gensai-sensei towards the gate, calling back to the retreating Miburo, "I'll be back in the morning, Fujita-san, in case you need me to look after Tokio."  
  
Hajime let the shoji slam closed behind him. When -had- his life become so complicated?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Even in the darkness of the room, Saitou could see the gentle rising and falling of his wife's chest as she slept. But, other than this, Saitou Tokio remained completely motionless, just as she had for the past six hours.  
  
The lone wolf stood across the room, leaning against the wall. He'd tried sitting. He'd even done a brief stint of pacing. But, finding neither suitable, he had resigned himself to standing in a corner and chain-smoking.   
  
His lungs burned, but he preferred the pain to the numbness that threatened to wash over him. At least she looked better than the last time...that time in Osaka. Still, he could all but taste the waves of fear that seemed to reverberate in her bizarre detached ki, even whilst sleeping, like a tsunami of thick molasses threatening to crush the room and drown them both.  
  
'What did this to you, Kitty, eh?'  
  
What could possibly cause his usually stoic wife to retreat so deeply into her own mind? Certainly, she'd been nigh suicidal before, but...never, exactly...afraid of anything. Not like this.   
  
Saitou ashed his cigarette onto the already grime-covered wooden floor and then squished a burning cinder with his bare foot. Tokio would probably have a conniption if she knew how dirty her immaculately-polished floors were getting. But then, a conniption from Tokio usually wasn't much more than a quiet, "Won't you please smoke outside, Hajime?"  
  
And, of course, he would comply.  
  
Katsu and Seichii didn't know a damn thing. Not a damn thing.  
  
Minutes passed, timed by the white millimeters burned away by the glow of faintly sizzling tobacco. Even in the dim light of the room, Hajime could see his wife's face. A face he could no longer imagine life without. Maybe other men wouldn't consider her stunning, maybe they would consider her quite plain, ugly even...if they saw her scars. Or, more likely, they just wouldn't see her at all. They would pass her over in search of something more exciting, someone with a wide smile and a cheerful voice, someone who would flatter them and attempt to make them forget the burdens of the world, someone who craved happiness.  
  
Suddenly, Saitou noticed that his wife's breathing had become erratic. She seemed to be gasping for air through parted lips, making a raspy sound like a man stabbed in the lung. Hajime stubbed out his cigarette, and moved to kneel near Tokio's futon. Placing the back of his hand on her forehead to check for fever, Saitou used the other hand to pull the blanket off of his wife.  
  
As the chilly night air touched Tokio's skin, her eyes snapped open. The young woman shot up into a sitting position. Hands flying to claw at her neck, Tokio's mouth opened in a silent scream. She recoiled from her husband, using her legs to propel herself backwards until she hit a wall.  
  
Hajime watched as his wife scrunched herself against the barrier, one hand clutching her neck, the other arm raised over her face in a protective stance. Tokio trembled visibly as she continued to gasp for air.  
  
But, this was not Tokio. No. This was some frightened creature he had never before seen. This was not his spouse. And whatever had taken his perfectly agreeable wife and replaced it with this...this...frightened mouse, would pay. It would pay dearly.  
  
"Tokio," he said, keeping his voice level, "I'm coming over there."  
  
At the sound of his voice, Tokio only pressed her back harder against the wall. Saitou moved slowly, crawling the few steps necessary to reach his wife. When he reached out to tug her arm away from her face, Tokio flinched. Her breathing had become rapid squeaks. She struggled as if repulsed, trying to squirm away from his touch. Finally, Hajime resorted to catching both of her wrists with one hand and holding them at her right side, against her hip. He looked at his wife's face. Even though it was turned to the side, he could tell it twisted in agony, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth trying unsuccessfully to produce screams.  
  
"Tokio-neko," he began, "Look at me."  
  
Tokio made no sign of recognition as she continued to try to free herself by kicking her bent legs, finding only the wall as a target of her outburst. Saitou used his free hand to pull her chin towards him, but she jerked backwards, hitting her head against the wall and stunning herself momentarily. Immediately, Saitou smelled blood as a small dark smear became apparent on the wall behind Tokio's head.  
  
"Goddamnit, Tokio, quit thrashing," Hajime hissed, trying again to control his wife's head by gripping her chin. "I told you to look at me. Don't you dare disobey me again."  
  
Something in the depths of Tokio's mind snapped into place. Only one man would speak to her like that. Only one man would try to reach into the darkness to try to pull her out, no matter what it took.  
  
The frightened woman's breathing became slightly less ragged as she ceased her struggle. After a few moments, her face stopped contorting, though it still looked infinitely pained.   
  
And then she opened her eyes.  
  
It took a second or two, but as soon as she made out the silhouette in front of her, as soon as she recognized the intense amber gaze, Tokio threw herself against her husband's chest. Her arms wrapped instinctively around his neck as she clung to him as if for life itself.   
  
Hajime felt sharp, but silent, sobs wrack his wife's body as she fastened herself to his torso. After running his hand through her hair and down her neck, he decided that the wound to the back of her head was minimal. So, placing the palm of his hand against her spine, he rubbed softly, letting Tokio slowly become accustomed once again to his presence.   
  
After some minutes, Tokio stopped trembling, and her sobs had become just quiet hiccoughs for air. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Hajime pried his wife from his chest and looked into her frightened eyes.   
  
"Tell me, Tokio," he commanded firmly. "Tell me what happened."  
  
The young woman looked away from her husband, her gaze traveling to the sword stand across the room. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were attempting to speak, but all that came out was a pained gurgle. Tokio shook her head and tried once more, but once again words seemed to elude her.   
  
Saitou watched as his semi-mute wife tapped her throat, indicating a now complete inability to speak.  
  
He very much wanted to crush something, right at that moment.  
  
Tokio, however, seemed relatively calm for a person who had just discovered she could no longer talk. Voice or no, there was something she had to tell her husband. There was danger. She had to warn him. In case...  
  
Hajime had started muttering curses under his breath whilst pushing tear-moistened locks of hair out of his wife's face. She caught his hand with both of hers and placed it against her lips.  
  
"Aa?" he asked.  
  
Moving his hand aside, Tokio reached up and brushed her husbands long cage-like bangs out of the way. And then, peering at him very intently, hoping he would understand, she traced an X mark into his left cheek with her fingernail. Then she used her other hand to motion to the sword stand across the room.   
  
It took Hajime only a moment to process the meaning, But, when he did, his eyes grew wide as he caught Tokio's hand.  
  
"No, Tokio, the Hitokiri Battousai is dead." Saitou said through frowning lips. A brief thought that Tokio had progressed somehow from suicidal to delusional passed through the Miburo's mind. But, she'd never really indulged in such fantasies before. If she had hallucinated the infamous assassin, why do so now? Still, no one had seen the easily identifiable swordsman in over ten years. He had to be dead. "He's gone, Tokio. and even if he weren't, he wouldn't be so stupid as to be walking through a crowded city like this."  
  
Tokio shook her head as she clasped her husband's hand tightly in her own. He watched as she mouthed one inaudible word in the darkness, her shoulders quaking violently.  
  
"Alive."  
  
Saitou Hajime drew air in through his nose as Tokio's honey colored eyes peered into his own. As afraid as she was, her eyes bespoke no madness, no delusional unclarity. Tokio's certainty resounded with crystal precision like the tones of a wind chime before a storm.  
  
She had seen him, she had seen the Hitokiri Battousai.  
  
Saitou could feel his flesh crawl, burning with the need for battle, itching for his sword. All at once, he understood. The bloodlust, the frustration, the strange atmosphere that had settled over Tokyo which he could not place, they were linked to his reaction to the return of his old rival. The Battousai's ki, his presence, had begun to permeate the city, subtly reminding the ex-Shinsengumi captain of the Revolution.  
  
Then Saitou remembered what the old yakuza boss had said earlier in the day about the boy Myojin. "Some girl came...and some swordsman. They took Yahiko just a few days ago." A swordsman. A swordsman who could stand against the entire yakuza. Was it him? And if so...why would he do such a thing and leave witnesses? Perhaps years of isolation had driven the legendary assassin to his own sort of madness, or worse, carelessness.  
  
As her husband became stone-faced in thought, Tokio moved one of her hands to rub gingerly at her throat. When she woke, she could have sworn the wound had somehow re-opened, that she bled endlessly from the old scar. Now the mangled flesh only throbbed lightly underneath her touch. She could tell that she hadn't, in fact, been any further injured. Nonetheless, her throat refused to cooperate in the production of words.   
  
It had taken some time after the original injury, she remembered, to learn to speak again. Several months spent in soundless contemplation of the horrors she had witnessed, of the bloodbath she found when she literally crawled back home after the sun rose the next day. Her father's corpse already attracting flies, her mother's face twisted in grotesque horror...  
  
Tokio closed her eyes and fought desperately to shake off the image.   
  
"Alright, Tokio," Hajime finally said, "I believe you."  
  
In gratitude, Tokio stroked her husband's cheek softly, her eyes becoming tear filled once again. As afraid as she was of the demonic assassin of years past, her current state had little to do with the terrors of the night her parents died.  
  
She knew her husband would seek out the Hitokiri Battousai, and the two men would fight until one of them no longer lived.  
  
One strong hand cupped Tokio's face, a calloused thumb sweeping over the corner of her eye to brush away a tear. A low, crisp voice asked, "Will you be strong for me, Kitty?"  
  
Tokio nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to fight the urge to cry. Bending forward, he placed a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead before saying, "Then stop crying and go back to bed."  
  
As the young woman crawled back onto the futon, Saitou Hajime stood and crossed the room. In front of the elaborate stand holding his swords, he stopped and bent to pull one from the rack. He needed his katana, not that piece of crap police-issue sword. Unsheathing it halfway to check, Saitou stared at the bright gleam of the metal for several seconds before something hit his back/  
  
Tokio's arms curled around her husband's stomach from behind as she trembled. She clutched him fiercely, trying to will him not to leave, not tonight, not yet.  
  
Swiftly re-sheathing his sword, the tall swordsman addressed his wife. "I told you to go to bed." When Tokio didn't move, he ran his hand over her forearm and added, "I'm not going anywhere, Kitty."  
  
Tokio returned to the futon, only to be joined seconds later by her husband. Laying on his back, he pulled Tokio to his chest. And that is how they slept, Saitou Hajime clutching his wife with one hand, and his katana with the other.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime's desk, like his clothes, and usually his home, had the habit of looking starkly immaculate. Simple. Neat. Clean. The business of killing was often a dirty affair, but that was no reason to let grime infect the other areas of your life.  
  
Unfortunately, the last messenger, an undercover cop that Hajime had placed near the Kamiya dojo, had excessively sweaty palms. Palms that he liked to place on the wooden desk whilst speaking, no matter how much his superior glared at him.  
  
Because of this, Hajime had a wet rag in one hand, and a cigarette on the other.  
  
Nonetheless, the man had done his job. Profiles on each of the residents of the dojo, and their immediate contacts, now lay on the lieutenant's sweat-smudged desk.  
  
It hadn't been hard to track the Battousai down. Suspiciously easy, in fact. Disturbingly simple. The yakuza boss had been more than willing to describe in precise detail the man and woman who had come to their headquarters seeking out the young pickpocket. His physical description of the Battousai didn't much surprise Saitou, but the retelling of the former assassin's words and actions rang dissonant with the Miburo's expectations.  
  
As for the woman, well, there just weren't an exceptional number of female dojo masters, even in the city of Tokyo. With only a mild amount of inquiry, they'd found the shabby dojo, and easily begun to track the movements of all of its residents.   
  
After only two weeks, Saitou Hajime had a pretty good idea of the daily patterns and personalities of the Battousai and his compatriots.   
  
Yahiko Myojin, the kid, seemed to be nothing more than a contemptible brat. He'd been seen carrying a shinai and practicing kata with the Kamiya woman, so, outwardly at least, he was a student of the dojo. However, he had previously been associated with the yakuza, so that put him decidedly in the underworld, even if his voice hadn't even changed yet. Saitou couldn't rule out the possibility that the Battousai might secretly be training the kid for some other purpose. Though, if he wanted to create another hitokiri, it seemed he'd picked a less than extraordinary pupil.  
  
Then there was the newest member of their group, the man calling himself Sagara Sanosuke. Intelligence, however, had linked the nineteen year old to street fighting and gang activity under an alias of Zanza. Zanza. It sounded more than vaguely familiar to Saitou, but he couldn't place it. Nonetheless, the young man did have fairly exceptional fighting abilities for the Meiji era. And, apparently, a gambling problem and a ferociously excitable temper, information which Saitou figured might come in useful at some point.  
  
Of course, the Battousai, or Himura Kenshin as he called himself nowadays, stood out as the most powerful entity living at the dojo. Or, rather, he should have stood out. But, in fact, all the reports indicated that the legendary hitokiri spent most of his time doing household chores, cooking, and playing with children. And, to top it all off, he carried a sakabatou. A reverse-bladed sword. A clumsy tool at best, even though he'd managed use it to fight the young Zanza. So, either the man had a brilliant plan which required him to act like a complete fool, or he had indeed succumbed to some sort of madness within the past decade.   
  
And madness generally made people even more dangerous, Saitou knew.  
  
But the person who worried Saitou the most was the dojo's owner, this Kamiya Kaoru woman. She just didn't fit with the other three. Whereas they all had checkered pasts, hers seemed spotless. And why would any woman, living alone, suddenly take in three complete strangers? That wasn't madness, that was just ridiculously stupid. She stuck out like a sore thumb, with no obvious link to the other three. Unless, perhaps, the Battousai had decided to use her for her fighting abilities. Was he building some sort of gang? And how had he convinced this innocent woman to join up?  
  
The whole affair made Saitou want to march over to that goddamned dojo and demand an explanation.  
  
But, no. Patience. He had to find out everything before he confronted his old rival.   
  
Saitou put down the wet rag and picked up the file on Kamiya Kaoru. Flipping through it once again, he read a name he hadn't noticed before.  
  
Gensai.  
  
That...little...witch. Had she...known, somehow?  
  
This Gensai-sensai definitely would -not- become the Fujita family doctor. Saitou exhaled sharply through his nose. The old man -seemed- clueless enough, but he definitely could have been sent by the Battousai or the girl as a spy.  
  
But, no. Seichii had sent for the doctor, not the other way around. Merely a perilous coincidence, it seemed.   
  
Saitou reminded himself that this was no time to indulge in paranoia. The situation called for clear thought and a remarkably infallible plan.  
  
'No matter how long it takes', Saitou Hajime thought inwardly as he moved to look out his office window, 'I will learn the truth. Evil remains evil, no matter how many masks it might wear, or how differently it tries to appear. The evil that slaughtered law abiding families like the Tanagis can not be washed clean, not even with a decade's worth of time.'  
  
The sky beyond the police building had already begun to coalesce into light pinks and purples as the sun grew heavy in the sky. Nothing more could be done for the day, and Tokio would be waiting.  
  
She'd been staying home for the past two weeks at his insistence. Naoya and Seichii had been taking turns looking after Tokio, and even Katsu had volunteered to stay with her sister-in-law. But, Hajime could tell that their efforts to console and cheer the now-mute woman weren't necessary. The very next day Tokio had returned to acting normal. She slept the usual amount, which for Tokio was all the goddamned time. She ate normally, tended to the household tasks, gardened, sewed, cooked, and groomed that absurdly obese cat.  
  
Besides her inability to talk, Hajime could only discern one other difference. Upon returning home most evenings, he found her swiping at a tree in the backyard with her iron claws. She'd been training to use the shuko. But, judging from how few wounds the tree had suffered, Saitou had little doubt that in a few years, his wife might just be able to use the damn things to cut fabric.  
  
Well, if an exercise in futility made her feel better, what the hell did he care?   
  
With that thought, Saitou gathered his things and headed out of his office.   
  
He didn't get ten steps outside of the police department's gates when he literally ran into Okita Seichii.  
  
Out of breath, the shorter man clutched his own stomach in weariness from running.  
  
"Okita?" Hajime asked.   
  
"Come quick," Seichii finally managed to say between gasps, "Tokio...gone."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The strikingly magnificent woman who sauntered through the marketplace that afternoon did not fail to turn more than a few heads. Few people had ever seen material quite as fine as the white, silver, and purple robes that she wore. Robes which trailed behind her, seemingly unable to become soiled by the public road.  
  
"Gracious," the flower shop owner whispered, "Have you ever seen such a woman? Look at her! Do you think she is a foreigner?"  
  
"I don't think so. Look at how elaborate her obi is, Mitsu-san. But those eyes...they are like the greenest of teas. I bet she's some sort royalty," her young assistant replied.  
  
The woman floated through the square, as both men and women scrambled to make way for the impressive personage in their midst. Her face shone with youth and beauty, even beneath the light coat of makeup. Paint which only brought out the blush in her lips and the extraordinary color in her eyes.  
  
"She's heavenly," one man sighed as he took a swig of sake.  
  
"Imagine taking a wife such as that," his drinking companion remarked.  
  
Three servants, two female and one large burly male, kept the crowd from approaching the extraordinary woman who tarried only briefly in front of Fujita Tokio's cart, where the vendor's young assistant had decided to stop picking her teeth and sit up straight.  
  
Naoya-chan watched in awe as the most exquisite hands she'd ever seen lifted one of Tokio's embroidered obi sashes and rubbed it lightly against her cream colored cheek. With a noise resembling the flapping of a bird's wings, the woman's silver colored fan opened and fluttered at her face. Leaning close, one of the servants appeared to be listening to the woman's whispered voice. The servant then turned to address Naoya.  
  
"Ienobu-sama would like to know if you created this sash, miss," the servant said.  
  
"No, ma'am. My mistress, Tokio-san, made that," Naoya bit the inside of her own cheek, hoping that she wouldn't offend the majestic lady and therein do dishonor to her mentor.  
  
The servant leaned in to listen to the striking woman once more before saying, "Where might your mistress be today? Ienobu-sama would like to commission a piece from the creator of this work."  
  
Naoya tried extremely hard not to squirm in her seat under the intense stare of Ienobu's hauntingly green eyes. "Oh, uh, let me give you her address. I'm sure she'd be really pleased to help you out."  
  
Minutes later, as the woman and her servants strode out of the awestruck market, Naoya returned to picking her teeth.  
  
Tokio-san would certainly be very proud of her today. It would be quite a feat to have something you made worn by such an impressive woman. Nonetheless, Naoya felt like she needed a nap. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to ask that Ienobu about her strange purple hair.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita Seichii laughed and clapped his hands as his friend presented him with a rice ball in the shape of a cat. "Oh, Tokio-san, that is just wonderful. You know, you really should open your own shop. People would come from all over Japan just to gorge themselves silly on your cooking."  
  
Tokio sat at the table beside her friend and picked up her chopsticks. She tilted her head in thought for a moment and then shook it. Of course, she'd thought about opening a shop on occasion. But, such a business venture would require her to spend too much time away from her home. Besides, she dreaded to even imagine what Hajime would think.  
  
"Ah, she's right, Neko-chan," Seichii said, leaning down to address the stoic rice-ball kitten, "Naoya-chan would make such a winning hostess. I'm sure that within a week's time all of the patrons would be falling at her feet, vying for her attention. And then Tokio-san would be forced to stand at the door and beat off Naoya's suitors with sticks."  
  
Tokio tittered soundlessly at her friend's antics. It amused her how quickly Okita Seichii could turn from deceptively wise to impishly childlike.   
  
"What's that, Neko-chan?" Seichii asked the clump of rice, "You want to tell me something?" Putting his ear close to the food, Seichii's eyes opened wide as if in surprise. "Why...you...vile grain-beast! How dare you impugn Tokio-san's honor in such a manner?"   
  
Seichii sat up straight and held up his hand towards his friend, who had by now begun to fan herself with her own hand in an attempt to calm her own laughter. "Do not fear, Tokio-san. I shall protect you from all foes, be they edible rice cats or sinister bowls of miso."   
  
Lifting one chopstick high in the air, Seichii let out a fantastic battle cry before stabbing his intended victim through its head, dislodging one of the raisin eyes.  
  
Both Seichii and Tokio fell into immediate hysterics. For Seichii, this involved rolling around on the floor, holding his stomach. Tokio, on the other hand, put her hand to her collarbone in an attempt to try to keep her shoulders from quaking. Tokio wondered if she'd ever be able to have a meal in the poet's presence without being ripped through a shredder of tears or laughter.  
  
"He died honorably," Seichii cooed with false morosity as he sat back up, "I shall have to compose a wonderful verse for his eulogy."  
  
Tokio patted Seichii's hand and nodded, consoling him on his gruesome victory.   
  
Seichii looked up, his bright eyes dancing with delight, an enrapturing sight for any person in his presence. Tokio wondered if any man or woman had ever been able to deny her friend anything, weary of being deprived of seeing that majestic expression take hold of his face.   
  
"I do so enjoy it when you smile, Tokio-san."  
  
Tokio averted her eyes, looking at her own lap in response. She knew that Hajime had told both Naoya and Seichii what took place in the market, about the presence of the Hitokiri Battousai. They deserved to know, since their association with the Saitous could possibly put them in danger as well. But, neither Seichii nor Naoya seemed overly concerned about the threat at the time, worrying more about Tokio's health.  
  
Though, Tokio did notice that Seichii asked Hajime every evening, before returning to Katsu's house, about developments with the case.  
  
After finishing their meal, Tokio returned to the kitchen to wrap up some food for Naoya. This she handed to Seichii, who stiffed at it curiously before announcing, "No worries here, Tokio-san. I don't detect any gangster soba or corrupt jelly." Seichii chuckled a bit before adding, "Anyway, I'll take this to Naoya-chan and be right back, mm? Oh, and Katsu-san should be coming by. She said she had some books you might like."  
  
With that, Seichii headed out of the house on Taito street, whistling lightly to himself as he disappeared from view.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"When I returned, the place was a mess, and Tokio-san was nowhere to be found," Seichii explained as the two men ran towards Taito street. Saitou found himself moderately surprised that the poet could keep up with the extreme pace at which they had been running, especially after seeming so out of breath at police headquarters. "And, Saitou-san, there's some blood..."  
  
Hajime's jaw clenched as he picked up the pace. Tokio missing. Blood. The Battousai. Tokio.   
  
But, no. It couldn't be the Battousai. Saitou had agents tracking that man's every move, as well as the movements of the other dojo residents. Still, whomever did this could possibly be under the assassins' control.  
  
But, no matter how much the old hitokiri had changed in ten years, this modus operandi stood at the complete other end of the spectrum from a hitokiri's tactics. What would the Battousai gain from abducting Tokio? First, he would lose the element of surprise and risk involving the police. Second, he chanced angering the ex-Shinsengumi captain, and despite what the cliches said about anger making a man weak, in actuality rage proved to have unpredictable effects, depending upon the man.   
  
Yes. Anger and unpredictability went hand in hand. Just one more reason the Wolf of Mibu preferred the reliability of 'Aku Soku Zan'.  
  
Saitou came to a stop in the yard of his house, Okita Seichii arriving moments later, having fallen behind. The front shoji hung at an odd angle, leaving the room behind half-visible. Even from there, Saitou could tell a struggle had taken place.  
  
The Wolf of Mibu drew his sword, just in case the perpetrators had left an agent behind. Entering his house cautiously, he surveyed the disarray.  
  
Furniture had been overturned, Tokio's favorite vase lay broken in a pile of water and flowers. Tatami mats scrunched in odd places, disturbed from their usual layout. And then Saitou saw the blood dripping from the southernmost wall.   
  
"Bring me a lantern, Okita," Saitou said, his voice crisp as he examined the blood. Seichii darted into one of the other rooms and returned with one of the portable oil lamps. The pensive cop took the lantern from the shorter man and held it up in order to be able to view the crimson smears.  
  
The spot of blood stood only slightly below eye level for the Miburo. His gaze darted to the left where an even lower and smaller spot smudged the wall.  
  
"You seem awfully calm, Saitou-san. Are you alright?" Seichii asked, shifting his weight as he watched Hajime examine the scene of the crime.  
  
"Ahou. What good would it do Tokio for me to become irrational?" Hajime replied. His brow becoming sharply furrowed with concentration, he pointed at the larger spot of blood, "This isn't Tokio's." Motioning to the smaller smudge he added, "This is."  
  
"How can you be certain?"  
  
Saitou kicked over a bit of tatami and bent over. When he stood back up, he held a metal object in his hand. "I thought so. Tokio's shuko." Turning it over, he was only mildly surprised to find the blade tips tinged with blood.  
  
"See this spot?" Hajime asked, pointing to the larger spray of blood. "First, it is too tall to be Tokio. Second..." He placed the tips of the claw blades against the spray, illustrating what seemed like a moderate jumble of blood spots actually happened to be four smaller sprays. The claw's blades lined up perfectly. "Tokio appears to have injured her attacker. Then the culprit used superior strength to push Tokio against the wall, here." Saitou pointed to the smaller smudge of blood. "She wounded the back of her head some weeks ago. The force likely re-opened the wound. Afterwards, I assume, they disarmed her and tossed the shuko aside."  
  
"Amazing," Seichii remarked quietly, bending over to pick up a few pieces of overturned dishware.  
  
"Yes. It is certainly amazing that Tokio managed to hit something for once," Saitou replied, pulling something from between two blades of the shuko.   
  
"That isn't what I meant, Saitou-san."  
  
"Hn," Hajime grunted, "What do you make of this, Seichii?"  
  
The smaller man stepped closer to examine the object cradled in the Miburo's hand. "Is that hair? Purple hair?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Naoya-chan was babbling something about a woman with purple hair when I brought her lunch today," Seichii revealed.  
  
"Yare, that explains how they found us. Now, we only have to figure out how to find them."  
  
"I think I can help you with that," a female voice remarked coolly. The room darkened considerably as a figure stepped into the doorway, blocking the outside light. Both men turned to find Yamaguchi Katsu exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. "So, Tokio-san's been abducted, hm? Might I take this brief moment to interject that I told you this would happen, brother?"  
  
"I'm in no mood, Katsu," Hajime growled, clenching his sword so fiercely that his knuckles began to whiten.   
  
Seichii raised a hand as if to restrain the other man, but then thought better of the action and motioned towards Katsu. "You said you could help find her, Katsu-san?"  
  
"Yes," Katsu replied, stepping over the threshold. She surveyed the damage to the house for a moment before pulling an envelope from her obi. "This was delivered to my house a while ago. It is addressed to you, Jir-kun."  
  
Saitou sheathed his sword and then stepped forward to take the missive from his sister. Her removed the crisp sheet of paper from inside and shook it once to cause it to unfold.   
  
"Saitou Hajime," the swordsman read, "Be present at train warehouse six before eleven o'clock this evening if you wish to bid goodbye to your wife. Do not alert the police." Saitou turned the paper over, as if expecting more. "It isn't signed."  
  
"I believe the signature is still in the envelope, Jir-kun," Katsu commented as she tapped the end of her cigarette holder, carelessly sending ash onto the wooden floor.  
  
Upending the envelope into his palm, three fragile objects landed in Saitou's hand. Okita Seichii drew near, peering at the outstretched hand incredulously as he asked, "Are those dead bees, Saitou-san?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"It's the calling card of the Hachinisasareru," Katsu explained as she clicked her large rings together, peering at her brother with a sort of sour seriousness, "An exceedingly specialized ninja clan. They were one of the reasons I left our home village."  
  
"Explain, Katsu. And be quick about it. I don't have time for any of your literary embellishments," Saitou commanded.  
  
Katsu nodded her head towards her brother slightly, as if indicating she understood his plight. "Sometime after you left, Jirou, young women started to disappear from our village as well as neighboring towns. When the officials tried to look into the disappearances, many of them began to turn up dead. Eventually, rumors circulated about the deadly Hachinisasareru Akumu."  
  
Quirking one eyebrow, Katsu continued, "The Hachinisasareru were a ninja clan comprised completely of women, and had taken up temporary residence in the nearby mountains. According to gossip, the Hachinisasareru's original Okashira had discovered a way to train especially effective kunoichi. It seems that other ninja women were often found out because their warrior training caused them to be too strong, both in body and in spirit. Women like that would automatically cause suspicion if placed in a household as a spy. The Hachinisasareru, on the other hand, had special techniques they used for recruiting, spying, and killing, known as the Four Secrets of the Hachinisasareru Akumu. In fact, many people said that the young women who left to join the Hachinisasareru were not kidnapped at all, but instead were...somehow brainwashed. Because of this, our parents decided it would be best if I left town."  
  
"Are you saying that the person who kidnapped Tokio is really after you, Katsu-san?" Seichii asked.  
  
"No," Hajime interjected before Katsu could reply, "I believe this has to do with Tokio. I've suspected for some time now that Tokio's mother was a kunoichi."  
  
"You married a ninja?" Katsu questioned incredulously. "Ahou! What were you thinking, Jir-kun?"  
  
"I said Tokio's mother was a kunoichi, not Tokio herself. Tokio, on the other hand, doesn't appear to have figured this out. I haven't told her, and provided we can keep her from the truth, neither will either of you. My wife has few enough pleasant memories of her life. There is no reason to destroy her love for her parents by suggesting that her mother likely married her father as a plant for some ninja clan...to spy on him."  
  
These powerful revelations caused the trio to all fall momentarily silent. Katsu switched from clacking her rings to clicking her fingernails, while Seichii wound his fingers into a tight knot in front of his stomach and stretched. Hajime, on the other hand, pulled his starched white gloves out of his pocket and began to pull them on, using his teeth to get the most secure fit.  
  
"We won't tell her, will we, Katsu?" Seichii finally said. Katsu replied by rolling her eyes and shrugging mildly to illustrate her unwilling consent.  
  
"Good," Hajime replied. He stormed into the back hallway and returned seconds later holding a sheathed wakizashi which he thrust at Seichii.   
  
The poet took the weapon and held the hilt at arm's length between his thumb and forefinger, as someone might do a rotten fish. "What am I supposed to do with this, if I may ask, Saitou-san?"  
  
Ignoring Seichii's question, Saitou addressed his sister. Barking his commands in a manner that let everyone know he would not be contradicted, he said, "Katsu, stay here until Naoya-chan returns, which should be soon. Then go to the inn on Wajimito street. Tokio's kidnappers obviously know where your house is, and returning there would not be safe." Turning to the confused Okita Seichii, he continued, "Okita, you'll come with me."  
  
"You do realize I haven't the slightest idea how to use this thing, right?"  
  
Saitou only grunted in response as he walked past Seichii and Katsu and headed into the yard. As the other two stepped out on the engawa, he spoke to them without turning around, unwilling to let them see his face as he said, "The doctor said that Tokio should not be put in any stressful situations. Yare, this is a damned stressful situation. She may be unwell and therefore need assistance escaping while I take care of the kunoichi."  
  
Grasping the wakizashi in both hands, Seichii chirped an optimistic, "Hai! I'll do my best, for Tokio-san's sake."   
  
As Okita Seichii and her brother left, Katsu sat down on the engawa, and looked towards the horizon.   
  
"Hmph," she grumbled. "Men."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Warehouse six, like most facilities serving train stations, sat on a waterway, enabling an ease of cargo transfer from ship to rail. And, like most warehouses, it had the decidedly pungent smell of mold and sawdust.   
  
Saitou Hajime's shoes made sharp clacking noises against the wooden planks of the pier as he walked towards the simple square building. There would be no point, he decided, to attempt to sneak up on the place. Though he had a great deal of expertise at masking his own ki, he decided that it would be better to let the Hachinisasareru think he was playing their game, at least until he found out where they were holding Tokio.  
  
Beside him, Okita Seichii's movements made absolutely no noise, the soft sound of footsteps drowned by the waves washing back and forth beneath the pier. The poet's ki flared as brilliantly as a sun, reminding Hajime quite completely of how his old friend Okita Souji could go from annoyingly playful to deadly in an instant. The two brothers were so alike that it sometimes made it hard for Hajime to remember that this one probably had about as much skill with a sword as Tokio.  
  
Evening had fallen, painting the sky with a slick coat of violet that rapidly cooled in the late October chill. The pair approached the warehouse to find several figures waiting for them.  
  
Two women in servant garb held lanterns, casting the area in a dim glow. A burly man that Saitou guessed to be some sort of thug stood in front of the door.  
  
"Saitou-san," Okita whispered, "I recognize one of those servant girls. She used to work for Katsu-san as a maid."  
  
"Quite astute, Okita Seichii," a male voice replied from somewhere above Saitou and Seichii's heads. "The Hachinisasareru have ears everywhere."  
  
Both men looked up to take in the sight of the figure standing on the edge of the warehouse's sloped roof. Even in the dim light, one could easily make out the features of the striking figure. Long braids of deep purple hair hung down to the person's waist. Glowing green eyes gazed with burning intent from a face painted to resemble a geisha. The creature wore a black kimono decorated with a canary yellow obi. A sash worn diagonally across its chest, decorated with several repeated circular insignia in yellow and black, fluttered violently in the wind as the figure jumped down from the roof and landed gracefully in front of the two men.  
  
"I was certain you would show up," it said with a deeply male voice.  
  
Seichii's jaw, which had been hanging loosely open snapped shut only to open again a second later. "You're a man!"  
  
"Yes," he said, eyes sparkling with malicious mischievousness.  
  
"But," Seichii continued, "I thought all the Hachinisasareru were women."  
  
"A popular misconception. Allow me to introduce myself," the kimono wearing man said with growing glee, "Saitou Hajime, my name is Fusada Ienobu. You killed my father. Prepare to die."  
  
Saitou's only response was to reach into the pocket of his shirt and retrieve his cigarettes. Shaking the pack upwards once to produce the desired object, Saitou lifted it to his lips, lit it, and inhaled. Throughout this ritual, he didn't take his eyes off the person in front of him, examining the enemy closely even as he smoked.   
  
"Yare, yare. I bet you've been waiting to say that for a while now," Hajime replied crisply. "I can't believe that, with more than a decade of time to think about it, this was the best you could come up with."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Battle with the male kunoichi! Will Tokio be saved before she becomes a traumatized vegetable? Will Seichii figure out which end of the wakizashi is which? And what of the Battousai's precious laundry? Can you really get smeared-in tofu out of silk? (Oh wait, wrong story.)  
  
Character Notes:   
  
Someone mentioned that they didn't think Tokio would be the kind of person to faint. I don't either. However, in later chapters more information will come to light about this that will make it more understandable.   
  
I know a lot of fics have Tokio set up as some sort of spy, ninja, samurai or other warrior. I wanted to get away from this enough to not be cliche. I want to reiterate that Tokio is -not- some sort of ninja. She knows a few things that her taught her, but as we've seen before, doesn't really have the heart a warrior. If I had to rank her in fighting strength against known RK characters, I'd put her way below Kaoru, and perhaps even below Okon and Omasu (the two female Oniwabanshu). However, I feel that in a fighting situation, she'd be extremely resourceful and give it her best try, even if she knew she couldn't win (which is how she often handles Hajime, for instance).  
  
I took several different inspirations for Ienobu, including "D" from the anime Pet Shop of Horrors, and my original character "Grey" from "It's A Wonderful Life, Himura Kenshin". More shall be revealed about Ienobu in the next chapter.  
  
I had a brief amusing thought that I might have Saitou install Naoya as a plant at the Akabeko. Yes, that's right, Tsubame would actually -be- Naoya. I thought it would be amusing to hear some of tomboy Naoya-chan's thoughts as she wiled her way into the Kenshin-gumi's hearts as the demure and innocent Tsubame-chan. But, I ended up deciding that might be a bit TOO far fetched, and that no one would believe it, especially me.  
  
Chronicle Notes:  
  
I've changed from "Historical Notes" to "Chronicle Notes" now, since we have moved into the beginning of the anime/manga series. It is interesting to try to write from the opposing side of things. Obviously, we all know that the Kenshin-gumi is harmless, but I wanted to explore a bit what it would be like to not have the inside view of that group. I hope I didn't go overboard on that.  
  
Someone pointed out that Tokio's last name should actually be "Takagi." I realized this around the 2nd or 3rd chapter, but left the error due to personal laziness. My apologies for any confusion. When the story is all said and done, I might go back and change them.  
  
More will be revealed about the Hachinisasareru in the next chapter, so I think I will save my comments on them until then.  
  
Tokio's style of iron claws should more properly be called a "Neko-te". However, with all the other cat references in this story, I thought this might be mildly confusing, so I had Hajime call it a "shuko".  
  
I hope this chapter finally explains what Saitou meant several chapters ago (during the chicken incident), when he said he knew something about Tokio that even she didn't know.  
  
Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to everyone who sent such wonderful reviews, and even encouragement to return soon from the break. (Which I did. Can't stay away.) So, thanks again to zagato, Wolfgirl, Tessira Aleyn, JadeGoddess (I can't tell you that!), akuma no yoru (Hope this explains the name thing!), kawaii, kira and Dark Flame!  
  
LSR-7: Thanks for the suggestions. I'm always looking for good Saitou/Tokio stories to read, and especially on the lookout for decent historical info on Saitou.  
  
dadsnavygirl831: Some interesting developments on the Okita Seichii sub-plot should be coming up in a few chapters. The Saitou/Aoshi doujinshi was like some sort of bizarre alternate universe strangeness. But, of course, it was in Japanese...so...other than the pictures, I couldn't tell you what it was about.  
  
Leila Winters: (from your review of chapter 6) You certainly picked out all my favorite parts of that chapter! I think Saitou does actually have a pretty amusing imagination sometimes, especially with the way he is always comparing the women in his life to animals.   
  
Kyaa Kyaff: Thank you for your encouragement, as always. I love slipping the other RK characters into this story like a secret piece of cheese on a ham sandwich. Keeps things tied-in, I think.  
  
Animyth: Yeah. My first story with 100 reviews. I am exceedingly honored to reach that point. As for Okita Seichii, I think I'd like to meet him too. He's the quintessential -friend-, I think, the kind of friend I would like to be more often.   
  
Two hydrogens: I hope you aren't too disappointed about the ninja thing. Though, I will say this, the Kenshin-gumi is not going to go gaga over meeting Tokio. As for Saitou, he is really both a challenge and a joy to try to write. I agree that it is the little things in their relationship, both from Tokio and from Saitou, that show how much they care for one another. One of my main reasons for writing this story was to explore the concept that a) relationships don't have to stop growing at marriage and b) people don't have to constantly be making google-eyes at one another to have true love.  
  
Cherry Delight: *gives you a half-destroyed rice kitten and a pair of chopsticks* For you. Anyway, you wanted to know about the possible love triangle. Is something growing between Tokio and Seichii? Well, I will leave that to you to deduce. I am glad you thought the Souji/Seichii story was sad. Like I said, it made me cry several times, but then, I was on painkillers for the wisdom teeth at the time, so on re-reading it wasn't quite as poignant as I wanted. I didn't quite make it to the gruesome Seichii moment, so that will be in the next chapter.   
  
Glossary Notes:  
  
Kunoichi - Female ninja most often trained in the arts of deception, manipulation and seduction. Often worked with poisons and easily concealable weapons.  
  
Hachinisasareru - (Literally) Bee stings.  
  
Akumu - Nightmare  
  
(The clan is called the Hachinisasareru. Their style of fighting/killing/recruiting is called the Hachinisasareru Akumu.)  
  
Note Notes:  
  
Jeez. I sure do babble in these notes. I'll try to cut down on that, because it annoys me when other people do it. GRR. *slashes notes angrily* 


	9. Chapter 9: The Fires Within

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 9 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Snow. That winter, there had been so much snow. So much snow that the university had been closed, and every sensible vendor in the market had shut their doors. Hajime, always prepared, had cut so much wood that the pile almost reached the roof of their house in Osaka. It never ended, falling day after day, night after night, suffocating the world.  
  
In the whirlwind of life, the storm of events that propelled a person through time, Tokio saw those two weeks as the eye. So much stillness, deafening. Such incredible brightness, a landscape coated in white, as if nature itself was a virgin unaware of the alluring secrets locked away beneath her own gowns.  
  
The whole house had been so cold that morning. Tokio remembered how the floor had felt like a frozen lake of ice against the bottoms of her feet. Mornings such as this, one dreaded to give up the warmth collected overnight within such thick blankets. Thankfully, Hajime had already risen, so she had no regrets about keeping herself wrapped in the blankets as she rose and stole into the hallway.  
  
The aroma of food being cooked hit Tokio's senses only seconds before the realization that the only other resident of the house, her husband, must be the one doing the cooking. The fact that Tokio could remember less than a handful of instances that she'd actually seen Hajime in the kitchen only compounded her intense curiosity over a very simple question. Could her husband cook?   
  
And, more importantly, why would her husband cook?  
  
She found him in the kitchen, standing in front of the wood stove, a cigarette hanging unattended from his lips as he stirred some concoction that Tokio could not identify. Soup, perhaps? On the nearby counter, various vegetables had been chopped and lay in immaculate rows, like miniature soldiers lined up for battle. Her husband's long hair fell around his shoulders, wavy from the rigors of sleep. However, his grey sleeping yukata contained not a single wrinkle, looking just as crisp as the black gis he wore for teaching kendo. At least this particularity didn't mystify Tokio in the slightest, as she knew Hajime had not worn that yukata last night. In fact, he had not worn anything at all.  
  
The thought tugged at Tokio's lips, coaxing a smirk that arrested itself as her husband spoke with his back to his wife. "It wakes."  
  
Tokio pulled her blankets more closely around her body as she replied, "Are you cooking, Hajime?"  
  
"No, Tokio, I'm laying siege to Hokkaido," he retorted. Removing the cigarette from his lips and putting it out in a nearby urn, he continued, "Think before you ask stupid questions."  
  
Yawning slightly, Tokio leaned her head against the wall. Whatever it was that Hajime had been cooking actually smelled rather nice, and made the emptiness of her stomach much more pronounced. She had several more questions to ask him, but after thought, decided to just let the issue be. It didn't really matter why he was cooking, after all, and the effort of prying the answer from her husband would only destroy the most amusing mystery.  
  
Hajime looked over his shoulder at her, and Tokio found herself wondering how her husband could manage to look amused while frowning. She pulled part of the blanket up over her head in an attempt to warm her ears as she glanced at the nearby counter. A wooden bowl lay there with a cloth over it.  
  
"Hmph. Simple logic dictates that you'd be warmer if you stood closer to the stove," Saitou informed her as he lifted a chopping board and pushed a line of onions into the pot.   
  
Tokio shuffled forward, glad to be invited into her husband's space. She stood next to his rows of chopped vegetables, and colorful lines of diced spices and stared into the large pot that had just begun to boil. Even the way he stirred mesmerized her. Most people would stir in a simple circle, but Hajime's ladle traveled a crisp and unending figure eight.  
  
Looking at her husband, and then at a chopped cucumber, Tokio's stomach sunk. 'Strange how watching someone else cook can make a person twice as hungry. But then, I suppose that would be because...' After stealing one more glance at her husband to make sure his attention was on the soup, Tokio reached out and took a slice of cucumber, which she promptly popped into her mouth.  
  
"Do you know what today is, Tokio?" Hajime asked. His voice startled Tokio so much that she swallowed a large bit of the cucumber slice prematurely. To make up for the unchewed piece, she stole two more slices, deciding her husband either wasn't paying attention or just didn't care.  
  
"Thursday," Tokio whispered, "Or Friday. The snowstorm makes it hard to keep track."  
  
"We've been married for a year."  
  
Tokio stopped nibbling on the cucumber slice long enough to gawk at her husband, her eyes growing bright. Was that why...he was cooking? Turning her gaze back to the counter and her attentions back to the cucumber she whispered, "Four years, Hajime."  
  
"No," he corrected, "Only one."  
  
"One," she whispered in agreement, not caring to quarrel over technicalities. Pulling her blanket up over her mouth she added, "Though every year with you seems more like ten."  
  
"I'm not deaf, Tokio. Maybe if you made yourself more useful on occasion the time would go by faster. Now, hand me that bowl over there."  
  
Tokio turned to her right and picked up the wooden bowl laying on the counter. Pulling the cloth aside, she found a half dozen eggs laying bunched together. Tokio gasped at the sight. Eggs had been rare all winter due to a sickness the previous fall killing many of the chickens in Osaka.   
  
"Eggs, Hajime!" Tokio whispered excitedly.  
  
The lone Wolf of Mibu rolled his eyes and replied, "I know what they are, Tokio."  
  
"But...when did you...where did you..."  
  
"I was going to get you the whole chicken, but after remembering what happened to the last bird that fell into your clutches, I decided not to chance it." Without looking at the delighted expression on his wife's face, he continued, "Yare, they're yours. Do with them as you will."  
  
"Thank you, Hajime," Tokio whispered as she put the eggs away in a nearby pantry. How he procured eggs during an egg shortage and a snowstorm would, Tokio knew, remain a secret. If Saitou Hajime didn't want to tell you something, you would not be told. Tokio felt briefly sorry for any enemy that might try to torture her husband for information.  
  
"Your fire is going out," Tokio noted as she returned to her place next to the stove, "Would you like me to rekindle it?"  
  
Saitou's head turned so quickly to look at his wife that it startled her. The violent movement caused some of his hair to fall into his face, partially obscuring Tokio's view of the blank stare that rapidly morphed into a rare expression of softness as his amber eyes glowed with some sort of private bemusement. Her husband's brow unfurrowed for once, as if his everlasting singular concentration had been temporarily broken.   
  
Tokio stood bewildered as her husband's voice, rimmed with lustfulness, pronounced, "Aa, rekindle my fire."  
  
Finding her fire poker, she bent in an attempt to stoke the flames a bit. Adding two more small pieces of wood, she looked up at her husband and asked, "How is that?"  
  
Hajime looked down at his little wife peering up at him through a shroud of blankets and a curtain of bangs.   
  
And that is when he exclaimed: "Goddamnit!"  
  
Suddenly, Tokio felt herself being thrown backwards as her husband's foot connected with her sternum. She landed against a stand of pots and other cooking utensils, which crashed around her noisily. The wind knocked out of her, Tokio's arms and legs suddenly called out for a now-missing warmth. Her vision swam from the impact, but when the room stopped throbbing, she saw her husband, sword drawn, a rapidly burning blanket hanging from the tip of the blade.  
  
Hajime snarled at the fiery mass for only an instant before making his way towards the southern end of the kitchen and pulling back a heavy shoji. The burning blanket flew out into the yard, creating an angry hiss as it landed in the extinguishing embrace of the snow.  
  
So fast. It had happened so fast. Tokio hadn't even known that she had been on fire until she saw the flame-covered material hanging from her husband's sword. She sat, stunned, as Saitou re-sheathed the katana and then picked her up out of the pile of toppled kitchen utensils. He placed her on a clean spot on the counter, sitting with her upright with her legs dangling a good foot above the floor.  
  
Hajime began a cursory examination of his wife by grabbing her bare arms and turning them over, looking for burns. His nostrils flaring slightly, he dropped Tokio's arms and decided instead to slide his hand around her neck and pull her hair over her shoulder. Finding the tips of the left side of her hair slightly singed, he pulled his pliant wife forward by the shoulder to crane his head and take a look at her back.  
  
"I...I..." Tokio finally stuttered in her hushed whisper, "I'm not b..burned, Hajime."  
  
Saitou let go of his wife's shoulder, letting her turn back to face him. She began to shiver violently as his hand traveled to the collar of her yukata and pulled it open, exposing her torso down to the top of her stomach. Rough fingers explored Tokio's chest, twice causing the young woman to wince when they brushed over the area where her husband's foot had applied the most force. Finally satisfied, Hajime looked up from his work, the deep consternation so recently lifted from his face already carved again into his features.  
  
"No broken ribs. But you'll have bruises."  
  
Through lightly chattering teeth, Tokio replied, "I'll heal. Th...thank you. I didn't even ss...see."  
  
The expression that Tokio had come to understand as wickedly playful tugged at the corners of her husband's eyes as he gazed down from her face over her unprotected upper body. Tokio resisted the urge to squirm as she realized how lurid the scene had suddenly become. Hajime stood between her parted knees as she perched upon the counter, easily able to access any part of her body he might desire.  
  
Dipping his head forward until his hair brushed lightly over her naked collarbone, he asked, "Shall I warm you, eh Kitty?"  
  
In answer, Tokio wrapped her legs around her husband's waist, locking them at the ankles. With wanton hunger, both parties collided in a kiss, a conflagration of passion that Tokio's mind imagined melting the drifts of snow for miles around. She slipped her hands into the front of his warm sleeping yukata, seeking out the taught shoulder muscles which seemingly often had to bear the toughest duties and most starkly harsh responsibilities of the world.   
  
Tokio felt her husband's hand slide behind her neck, resting at the nape for only a moment before his fingers flexed upwards into her hair. He broke their kiss by using a firm grip on the downy tresses he caught and pulling backwards, causing her neck to arch forward towards the demanding ministrations of his teeth. The combined sensations of Hajime running the tips of his pronounced canines over her old scar and his hand pulling at her hair caused Tokio to grind her hips unconsciously with exigent lasciviousness.  
  
In response, her husband growled darkly and renewed his efforts at the sensitive hollows and peaks of her collarbone. As his mouth traveled to the uppermost swell of her breasts, Tokio felt his grip on her hair melt slowly away. That same hand traveled down, over the back of her yukata, pressing her shoulder blades forward towards the ravenous lips attacking her front.  
  
"Hajime..." Tokio finally managed through addled senses.  
  
Her husband exhaled sharply through his nose, the warmth of his breath spreading across her exposed breasts. "Aa?"  
  
"The...the food..."  
  
"Let it burn," he replied, looking up from his task, his eyes alight with rabid voracity, "I have other hungers now."  
  
As if to illustrate his point, he sunk his teeth into the underside of one breast, savagely claiming possession of the fragile skin. Her husband's perfect knowledge of the hidden threshold between pleasure and pain unfailing, Tokio's eyes closed as her mind whispered, 'Yes. Let it burn.'  
  
"Now, about those cucumbers you stole..."  
  
"Hajime..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Wonderful dreams that swirl unbidden from the depths of time, like a kiss in the night from an unseen stranger, can leave one breathless. Especially when one's breathing is already hampered by the restriction of an obi, tight binds around one's hands and feet, and the stifling confines of an enclosed wooden crate.  
  
Tokio found herself suddenly awake. Memories of the past still playing across her mind's eye, Tokio had to wonder briefly if this might be what it would be like to be dead. Darkness. Unable to move, unable to speak, cast adrift in a lonely sea with only remembrances of one's life as companions.   
  
Was she dead? Had she died?  
  
With extreme effort, Tokio lifted her head a bit and attempted to shift herself upwards. It took several minutes to make it into a sitting position, and even then she had to remain crouched, for her head easily reached the top of the crate. Pressing herself against that barrier, she found it immobile.   
  
Still, she could taste fresh air from several directions, so it seemed likely that she hadn't been buried alive, only imprisoned in some sort of wooden box. Her captors had been kind enough to leave some slats removed to allow her air.  
  
Oh yes. There had been a fight.  
  
Tokio groaned inwardly on recollection of how she came to be kidnapped. The woman with the purple hair, who during the course of Tokio's abduction had been revealed to be a man, had come to their door asking for water for a traveling companion who had suddenly taken ill.   
  
'Why did I let her...him...inside? Truly, I am as stupid as my husband is so fond of reiterating.'  
  
Hajime. Would he know how to find her? Would he come? And, more importantly, would he be terribly cross at her for being so ignorant as to let a stranger into their house, and so weak as to let herself get abducted?  
  
Of course, she had fought. Tokio had been able to dive for her shuko, but in her haste she'd been unable to fasten it properly. She'd been so stunned when she actually drew blood from her attacker that the purple haired man had overpowered and easily disarmed her.   
  
She'd tried to disable him with her metsubishi powder, as well, but he seemed to know ahead of time to exhale into the cloud of blinding powder to push it away from his eyes and lungs.   
  
After that, someone had shot a small dart into her shoulder. The world had begun to blur, and seconds later, she'd fallen asleep.  
  
Tokio wondered how long she'd been unconscious. Was she even in Tokyo anymore? In Japan?   
  
Would they kill her?  
  
That was not exactly the end she'd envisioned. Death at the hand of some stranger. No. She would not let them. She would not let her husband's last memories of her be of the woman who had cried with fear over seeing the Hitokiri Battousai. Of a woman so scared of the world that she had frightened herself into losing her voice.   
  
Besides, if she died, who would take care of Snowflake?  
  
'Come on, Tokio. This is no time for silly thoughts. Hajime will come. He will. You just have to survive until then.'  
  
If only she could get her hands free, maybe she could whistle. Maybe someone would hear and come to her assistance. Tokio tried her hands, but found the knot too tight to allow for escape.  
  
Tokio found herself getting angry. 'And why not? I have every right to be furious about this. I'm not some helpless child. I don't have to put up with this.'  
  
She clenched her teeth and tried kicking her legs out, to see if she could find a loose plank in the crate. Nothing.   
  
'This is utterly infuriating.'  
  
And with that thought, Tokio leaned her head against the side of the crate and decided that she'd best try to express her anger in a less tiring way, in case she had to struggle with her kidnappers when they returned. For that reason, Saitou Tokio took a deep breath and forced her vocal cords to constrict enough so that she could whisper her first word in two weeks.  
  
"D...Damn!"  
  
Her husband would have been so proud.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Yare, yare. I bet you've been waiting to say that for a while now," Hajime replied crisply. "I can't believe that, with more than a decade of time to think about it, this was the best you could come up with."  
  
"Do you know this person, Saitou-san?" Seichii asked, still gawking at the purple haired gentleman in the kimono.   
  
"No," Saitou answered, "But, from his speech, I would assume that he is the son of the first man I ever killed. Though, few people would have ever termed Fusada Atsuji a man, and from the looks of him, fewer still will call his son one."  
  
Ienobu drew himself up to his full height. "Underestimate me at your own peril, Saitou Hajime. I was known as the strongest of the Hachinisasareru."  
  
"Inconsequential," the tall cop mused through a cloud of smoke. "For, if I have learned anything from my wife, it is this: A man can possess infinite strength and still be a consummate coward. But, even the weakest child can have spirit and bravery enough to survive a thousand hells. Wishing to fight me to redeem the honor of your father is one thing, but kidnapping a woman to achieve your goal reeks of cowardice."  
  
Seichii tapped the sheathed wakizashi against his lips in thought before saying, "So, this wasn't about Tokio-san, after all?"  
  
Ienobu chuckled deeply, his bouncing purple braids discordant with his manly laugh. Both Seichii and Hajime now noted that the ends of the braids had been bound in what appeared to be sharp barbed wire that gleamed in the soft glow of the lanterns. "No. Finding out that Tanagi Tokio was Saitou's wife merely made this all the more delectable. Returning her to Okashira Iyoko shall assure that I shall resume my place within the clan."  
  
"Kicked out, were you?" Saitou taunted.  
  
"Merely forced to take a leave until I could redeem myself in the eyes of the Okashira. And I have little doubt that reuniting our leader with her granddaughter...your wife...will do just that."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sixteen years ago, a ferocious fire consumed the Fusada family house. It grew so hot so fast that my father had to choose between rescuing his wife, and rescuing his son. A ghastly decision to force upon any man. He came to my room first, where the smoke had already overpowered me into unconsciousness. My father sprinted back outside, and put me in what he thought was a safe part of the yard as he ran back towards the burning building.  
  
But, he had no time. The blaze had already made the route to my mother's room impassable. I was but four years old at the time, but I can remember quite clearly waking to the sounds of my father's screams mingled with the crackle of fire.  
  
Unfortunately, my father had sat me next to a warehouse that contained not only opium, but foreign dyes and oils. That building, too, caught fire. Paralyzed with grief, it took too long for my father to realize my renewed peril. Eventually, I was able to crawl away from the inferno, but since that day, my hair and eyes have always been these unnatural colors.  
  
You do not know how harrowing it is to grow up as a young boy, looking like that, being constantly teased by children. And who could I run to? Who would dry my tears? My father soon followed my mother to the grave by your sword, leaving me alone. With a Revolution brewing, not even the saintliest had time to do little more for the world than bandage the fallen. No man or woman had time to care for a freakish orphan.  
  
And who would bring justice to my father's name? No one in the village even seemed to care that he had been murdered. The whispers in the dark alleyways praised the name of Yamaguchi Jirou for freeing them from the oppressive grasp of my father. Praised him! A criminal! Could the people not see that my father had been wronged? That he, a mere merchant, had only been trying to make his way in the world to secure the futures of his wife and son? So what if he had sold opium and made deals with foreigners. It was -their- choice to buy those wares. He never forced it upon anyone.  
  
I became a servant to another merchant family when my father's property was seized and parceled off to the greedy residents of our village. I toiled daily on the water's edge, endlessly loading and unloading cargo. My masters beat me without sparing a single lash due to my age.   
  
One day, beaten in body and spirit, I fell from the pier into the rushing early spring waters of the river. The water, still near freezing from the snows melting in the mountains, numbed every inch of my flesh. I thought for certain I would drown, but the next thing I knew, I had been pulled from the raging waters by the hands of an achingly beautiful girl only a few years older than myself.  
  
"What have you caught there, Keisuke?" another woman asked.   
  
"A most unusual fish," she replied.  
  
As the women gathered around me, Keisuke placed me on a large boulder and patted my back to assist in dislodging the water in my lungs. I looked around in awe, for I had heard the horrible tales of the witches of the Hachinisasareru. But these seemed to be simple women, kind women, they smiled at me, and gave me sweet rice to eat. When they asked me how I came to be in the river, they all gasped with sincere dismay at my story.   
  
And that is when Keisuke said, "We'd best take him to the Okashira."  
  
They took me to their headquarters, set deep into the mountain. There, I was brought to their leader. Imagine me, a boy of only nine, in a den of trained ninjas! The girl Keisuke introduced me to as regal a woman as I had ever seen. Never before had I beheld a woman with the eyes of a hawk, and the grace of a jaguar. I came to know her as Iyoko-sama.   
  
Keisuke bade me tell my story to her, and I did. When I finished, Iyoko-sama seemed to be peering into my very soul.  
  
"Come to me, boy."  
  
I did as she commanded, and knelt by her chair. The Okashira of the Hachinisasareru ran her fingers through my hair and said, "So much beauty can be born of fire and pain. I know what it is like to lose all that you cherish, to be an outcast among your own people."  
  
Iyoko-sama told me that I could take back all that had been stolen from me. My pride. My freedom. My family's wealth. And if I were especially diligent and true, I could even avenge my father's death.  
  
"We will help you, but we of the Hachinisasareru only train kunoichi. And so, if you wish our help, you must forever sacrifice your image as a man. We require that any man who wishes to join us must always dress as a woman when in public."  
  
It did not take me long to agree. And thus began my rigorous training in the Hachinisasareru Akumu.   
  
It may be hard for you to understand that I have no shame for wearing this kimono. For it is simply a symbol of my dedication to the women who saved me, protected me, taught me all I needed to know to take control of my destiny. Dressed as a woman, I am revered by all who cross my path as a pinnacle of beauty and charm. Men throw themselves at my feet, begging for the simplest favor. And women would give anything to possess the secrets of my allure.  
  
The women of the clan gave me more kindness than any had in years, and I became fiercely protective of my many sisters. The clan had only two other men in it at that time, both much older than myself and dispatched on missions, so I spent years and years in the company of only women. To each and every one I was the little brother or son they left behind in their former lives.   
  
Except to Keisuke. As the years passed, I fell deeply in love with the girl who had drawn me from the river.   
  
Iyoko-sama noticed this and said to me, "Kunoichi must never give their hearts away. For therein lays the power over all others. A beauty who is desired needs no sword, she merely commands all those covet her embrace to fight and die in her name. You give away your heart, and you give away your power."  
  
"Have you never loved, Iyoko-sama?" I asked.  
  
"Twice. A husband. And a daughter. And love stole them both from my side. A fitting punishment, don't you think?"  
  
But, I didn't listen to her. When I was finally old enough to be sent on missions, I always begged to be sent alongside Keisuke. And, I think Keisuke returned my affection as well.   
  
I never got the chance to ask.   
  
Iyoko-sama assigned Keisuke to spy upon a certain politician's actions by setting her up to become his wife. I was furious. My Keisuke, having to marry some old, foul, politician. To share his home...and his bed. My sight ran red with the thought that any man would have my Keisuke.  
  
So I did the only thing I could do. I killed him.  
  
Iyoko-sama found out, of course. And for my disobedience, she sent me away from the clan. "You must make a choice, Ienuobu," she said, "Between duty, the duty you owe yourself, the duty you owe your father, the duty you owe the Hachinisasareru...and the inconstant desires of your heart. For the two are swords, one at your back and one at your throat, and fighting both no man or woman can survive."  
  
So I will kill you, Saitou Hajime, Yamaguchi Jirou, proving my duty to my father. My gift of Tokio to her grandmother, our Okashira, will prove my duty and loyalty to the Hachinisasareru. And then, I will return to my sisters with proof that I have chosen duty over love, that I am truly a kunoichi.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"There is a problem with your plan," the Wolf of Mibu retorted, tossing his cigarette off the pier into the calm waters below. "You can't truly expect to defeat me in a fight. If my information is correct, the Hachinisasareru are not taught to be skilled warriors."  
  
"The Hachinisasareru are not taught the tactical aspects of using weapons to slice up or bludgeon their opponents. However, I do not need to defeat you in battle to kill you. I need only scratch you. This is the first Secret of the Hachinisasareru Akumu, the Yakusatsu Oku." Ienobu stepped to his right and removed a long spear-like object from behind a crate. Holding it up to the light, he allowed his two opponents to observe the weapon. The long iron pole ended in an outwardly curved "V" of blades. "This is the double naginata, a weapon of my own design. I find it more than adequate for defeating overconfident swordsmen."  
  
"So ka?" Hajime asked, unimpressed. "I suppose I shall indulge you, then."  
  
"Be careful, Saitou-san," Seichii said, stepping out of the way. "You never can trust a ninja to fight fairly."  
  
"Hmph, what would you know about it?" Hajime asked, drawing his katana. The gathering moonlight slid its reflection sharply down the blade as Saitou crouched, his right foot leading his left. A white gloved hand thrust forward, fingers spreading lightly over the tip of the sword as his left elbow drew back.  
  
"Ah. Yes, the Gatotsu," Ienobu mused. "Perhaps I forgot to mention that I know all about your fighting techniques, my friend. Iyoko-sama's best gift to me, as much intelligence as she could gather on the Shinsengumi's Wild Wolf. Perhaps I should point out that my naginata is longer than your sword. If you run at me with the intent to skewer me, you'll likely find your neck cleaved in twain."  
  
"Aa," Saitou grumbled, "I realize this."  
  
Unseen by the other two men, Okita Seichii rolled his eyes.   
  
Fusada Ienobu smirked as he gripped the double naginata. Gripping the end of the pole with his left hand, he raised it high into the air. His other hand, closer to the twin blades, remained at shoulder level, causing the "V" to be pointed slightly downwards.  
  
As the moonlight disappeared underneath a cloud, Saitou rushed forwards, leading with his right foot. But, when he snapped his shoulder to perform the deadly thrust, Ienobu's naginata shot downwards, capturing the katana between the dual blades. The two men stood, snarling at one another, as Saitou pushed his katana upwards, and Ienobu pressed his weapon downwards, neither wishing to release the other.  
  
Finally, Saitou pulled his katana swiftly backwards. The grating sound of metal on metal ended with a loud "thunk" as the naginata continued forward on its arch and stuck into the wood of the pier. Ienobu, too, continued on a downward path, his legs flying over his head. One foot barely missed striking Saitou in the face as the Miburo slashed to the side in an attempt to cut the other man at the knee.   
  
Unfortunately, his katana only struck the iron pole. Ienobu's right hand had let go of the weapon and pushed off against the ground, allowing the Hachinisasareru's Lost Kunoichi leverage to swing himself away from the slice.  
  
Then Saitou remembered the barbed wire bindings in the ninja's long braids. The Miburo jumped backwards just in time to avoid being hit in the shin with one of the two braids that whipped around as Ienobu spun about the pike.  
  
This Ienobu was clever, Saitou had to give him that much, even if he did fight dirty. The ninja wasn't trying to cut him with the naginata. No, Ienobu was trying to scratch him with the poisoned barbs in his hair.  
  
"I knew your threat to match my gatotsu by spearing me with the double naginata had to be a bluff. At the very least, you risked breaking your arm, since you are only trained to defend yourself with that weapon, not to strike with it," Hajime observed coolly as he watched Ienobu flip back into an upright position and pull the naginata from the pier.   
  
"Ah. So, that weapon he has isn't a weapon at all," Seichii observed, "But a distraction."  
  
As Hajime began to draw his body into the second gatotsu stance, the sword high above his head, Seichii shouted, "Saitou-san, wait!"  
  
Hajime's eyes flickered towards the poet, mid-movement.   
  
"If the naginata blades were poisoned, that poison is now on your sword. Be careful not to touch the katana's blade. Even with your gloves on, you can't be certain..."  
  
Looking up and down the length of his own sword, Hajime cursed inwardly. Several of the gatotsu stances required a light touch on the sword's tip when starting to run, in order to direct the blade. He had to disarm Ienobu.   
  
As Saitou struck downwards with the second gatotsu, the Hachinisasareru ninja moved the pole horizontally to deflect the blow. The katana clanked against the iron rod. But this time, Saitou knew, he had the advantage. The force of gravity and practiced muscles on his side, the naginata fell from Ienobu's hands and landed on the wooden pier.  
  
As Ienobu jumped backwards to avoid the oncoming slash, Saitou used his foot to kick the fallen weapon off the dock into the waters below.   
  
The Miburo stepped to his side and leaned his katana against a crate. Sheathing it would only transfer the poison into the sheath, Saitou knew. And he didn't want to strike the ninja with the poisoned katana. Not until he knew where to find Tokio.  
  
"It will be more amusing to beat you with my fists."  
  
"If that is your belief, feel free to try," Ienobu responded. As Hajime leapt forward intending to punch the other man in the jaw, the feminine ninja's head moved forward diagonally, the exact opposite direction that one would expect for a blocking move. Ienobu grabbed the shirt of Saitou's uniform and used it to propel himself around the Miburo as if the cop himself were a slippery pole. Both men ended up back to back, Ienobu in a crouched position. As the two spun, Ienobu's braids whipped around and caught Saitou's overshirt at his abdomen, leaving it with a three inch slash. Ienobu, on the other hand, found himself being propelled backwards as Saitou's fist slammed into the ninja's jaw.  
  
"Damn," Hajime grumbled, looking at his shirt. Not wanting the poison to soak in through the fabric of his undershirt, he tore the top of his uniform off quickly and tossed it aside.   
  
Ienobu, who had landed on his rear, fingered his jaw lightly. "The second of the Hachinisasareru Akumu, the Hitosashi No Hachi. The dodging techniques of my clan are legendary. A broken jaw is a small sacrifice for killing you."  
  
"Too bad those braids of yours aren't an inch longer, then." Setting himself back into a fighting stance, Hajime mused inwardly, 'Dodging. Those moves are exactly like Tokio's. But the moment he tries to attack, he becomes extremely weak. When his focus moves away from dodging my blows, he's no more powerful than any normal man."  
  
Ienobu stood. Placing his feet slightly apart, the ninja clasped his hands together at his chest, right above his obi, with his index fingers outstretched, tips touching. As Hajime rushed at the man, Ienobu's mouth opened, and emitted high-pitched reverberating scream. Immediately, the male kunoichi became a blur of yellow and black. Unable to discern the placement of Ienobu's head, Saitou changed his aim towards the midsection of the blur, hoping to catch the ninja's stomach. Instead, he felt his hand pass through something soft which immediately constricted around his wrist.  
  
The blur and the scream came to an abrupt stop as Ienobu launched himself into the air, leaping over the bent cop. Saitou found his arm being pulled up and over his own head.   
  
Ienobu had wrapped his sash around Saitou's fist.  
  
Hajime landed on his back, his arm firmly bound by the sash. While the cop lay stunned, Ienobu seemed to dance forward, dragging the length of material underneath the other man's head and then pulling upwards. Within a flash, he had composed a strange configuration of knots, securing both of the other man's arms to the loop around his neck.  
  
"You are lucky. Few people get to witness the Third, and most powerful, fighting secret of the Hachinisasareru Akumu, the Sageyoku No Hachi. The vibrations of my voice displaces the air around me, causing me to seem as a blur, and hiding my true movements." Ienobu's voice dripped with the sugary gloat of victory.   
  
"So ka?" Hajime replied, sounding infinitely bored. Testing his binds, he found that any attempt to move his arms only caused the loop around his neck to constrict.  
  
"I wouldn't move, if I were you, unless you want to strangle yourself," Ienobu removed a spade-shaped kunai from his obi, and moved to stand over the prone man. "I told you, I know all of your secrets, Saitou Hajime. You should have never underestimated me just because I am dressed as a woman."  
  
"I know something about you, as well, Fusada Ienobu," Saitou growled, as the kimono wearing men bent forward, aiming the kunai at Saitou's left eye.  
  
"Oh?" Ienobu asked, stopping momentarily.  
  
"Aa, my wife likes to poison her shuko."  
  
"Nani?!?" the ninja exclaimed, recoiling. Seeing the movement he had predicted, Saitou drew his knee towards his own stomach and shot his foot upwards, connecting easily with the ninja's collarbone. A loud snap echoed through the dock as Ienobu flew backwards, landing in a heap by the water's edge.  
  
"Seichii..." Saitou grumbled. The poet scrambled to his friend's side, using the wakizashi to cut Hajime loose from the knots in Ienobu's scarf.   
  
Lending Saitou a hand to pull him up, Seichii asked, "Is that true? Does Tokio really put poison on her iron claws?"  
  
"How the hell should I know?"   
  
"Tsk, tsk. That's fighting dirty, Saitou-san," the smaller man chided.  
  
The Lone Wolf of Mibu tossed the remnants of the scarf off to the side and stalked towards the unconscious form of Ienobu. Grabbing the feminine ninja by his collar and pulling him out of a pile of crates, Saitou held the other man in the air and shook him vigorously. Ienobu's head lolled from side to side until finally one green eye popped open.  
  
"Where's...my....wife?" Saitou barked.  
  
"In...inside..."  
  
Saitou tossed the other man back on the ground and grabbed his katana from where he had leaned it. "Okita. Take that wakizashi and point it at Ienobu's neck. If he tries to move, run him through."  
  
"Hai!" Seichii chirped, bouncing over towards Ienobu.  
  
The tall cop walked towards the door of the warehouse and the thug guarding it, his katana aloft. The thug looked right and left, as if wondering how best to escape. Finally, he turned to his side and, after a brief sprint, jumped into the waters below.  
  
Saitou Hajime sneered.   
  
"Good choice."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Fusada Ienobu awoke to find Okita Seichii standing over him. In itself, this would not be a terrifying sight. However, the smiling poet had a wakizashi leveled just above the ninja's Adam's apple, so Ienobu couldn't help but utter a short squeak of surprise.  
  
"Ah. You're awake," Seichii said. "That's good. I wanted to be able to tell you how much I admired your skill. Very unusual. Very effective. I hope you don't mind that I took a bit of a souvenir to remind myself of the fight."  
  
Seichii pulled his other hand from behind his back, producing two short cords of purple with the ends bound in barbed wire. These he dangled in front of Ienobu, swinging them back and forth as if to taunt the other man.  
  
"My...braids!" Ienobu exclaimed, his hands flying to the top of his head, only to find that his once luxurious hair had been shorn, leaving only an uneven mane behind.  
  
"They'll look quite lovely on my wall." Seichii's arm shot out horizontally to toss the braids to the side. The two ropes of hair landed in a bundle, coiling around each other like plum-colored snakes. "You should be glad I did you the favor. Long hair is the demesne of true warriors and women. And now you won't be mistaken for either."  
  
Ienobu's nose wrinkled in anger as he beat his fist against the pier. "Why didn't he kill me? Tell me."  
  
"Oh. -That-," Seichii said, the corners of his eyes turning upwards with his enormous grin, "Saitou-san slays evil. And you, Ienobu, are not evil. Sad and pathetic, perhaps, but not what -he- considers evil."  
  
"So, what now? I am to be put in jail, I suppose?"  
  
Smirking, Seichii replied, "No, I'm afraid fate has decided a far more gruesome ending to your journey, Ienobu-san. Because, unlike Saitou-san, I consider anything that threatens my friends to be decidedly in the realm of evil. Now stand."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio had almost fallen asleep when she heard a voice calling her.  
  
"Tokio!"  
  
Her eyes fluttered open to darkness. Was this...some sort of hallucination? She was certain she heard...  
  
"Goddamnit, Tokio, make some noise."  
  
Her husband?  
  
Saitou rotated on his heel, inspecting the spacious warehouse. Box upon wooden box climbed towards the ceiling. 'Where is she?'  
  
"Ha...ji...me?" Tokio rasped, finding the production of even her whispered words still raw in her throat, "H..here!" Tokio leaned to the side and then thrust her shoulder against the side of the box.   
  
Hearing the dull thunk, Saitou stepped closer to the pile of boxes on the eastern end of the warehouse. "Again, Tokio."  
  
Tokio beat her shoulder against the wooden planks with all her might. Over and over again, she crashed into the side of the crate. Her shoulder quickly grew sore as she struggled to help her husband find her location. Finally, she felt the box shift, as if moved from the outside. She could now make out dim light between the two slats in the side of the crate.   
  
Saitou slammed the heel of his hand against the wooden latch holding the top of the crate in place. The latch flew off, skittering across the floor, followed shortly by the crate's lid.  
  
"Hh...Hajime..." Tokio whispered to the silhouette towering above her. She found herself being lifted at the waist and thrown over her husband's shoulder, only to be put set down on the top of another crate.   
  
As he bent to untie her ankles, Tokio choked out, "Man...p...purple..."  
  
"It has been taken care of," Hajime explained. Standing to untie Tokio's hands, the lone wolf surveyed his wife. Her face and neck glowed with the thin sheen of perspiration, causing wisps of escaped hair to stick to her cheeks and neck. A line of dried blood ran from her bottom lip over her chin. Her deep green kimono bore dirt and small rips caused by struggles during the abduction. But, despite it all, honeyed eyes peered at Saitou from beneath sparse eyelashes, calm as the ocean in the eye of a storm.  
  
"I see your voice has returned. Too bad, too. I was getting used to the peace and quiet," her husband commented. Noting the blood soaking through the material at her shoulder, he tugged at her kimono. Tokio watched as her husband inspected the wound in silence. The deft fingers of his pristine gloves becoming bloody, Hajime frowned even more deeply and then pulled her kimono back into place. "You'll be fine. We'll bandage it when we get home."  
  
Tokio's reached up to brush her fingers against the deep hollows of her husband's left cheek. His liquid gold eyes blazed with a carefully guarded inferno of emotion. A deeply hidden fire lay within this man that Tokio knew she would be the only one ever allowed to view in its completeness. Maybe he didn't romance her with flowers or sweet words. Maybe his rough ways and caustic words would be seen by the rest of the world as an extreme dislike for his wife. But, Tokio knew the truth. He needed her, she wasn't certain why, when his life certainly would have been easier without her, but he did.  
  
And she needed him.  
  
"You aren't going to cry, are you?" Hajime asked. "Because you already look dreadful enough."  
  
Or, maybe she was wrong. In retaliation, Tokio's hand shot out in an attempt to shove at her husband's shoulder. To Tokio's surprise, the tiny punch landed, though it didn't seem to dislodge her husband from his position in the slightest. Saitou looked at his shoulder where his wife's hand lay as she grabbed the material of his black undershirt and pulled herself towards his chest. Laying her head against him, Tokio whispered, "Took you...ssso long."  
  
Saitou leaned forward and pressed his face into his wife's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of honey and sugar marred only lightly by blood and sweat. "Aa. But, I'm here now, Kitty." Prying her away by her uninjured shoulder, he continued, "How did you finally do it, Tokio, how did you get your shuko to injure that man?"  
  
A wide and wicked grin crossed Tokio's lips. It had been dumb luck, of course, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Tilting her head to one side, and shrugging nonchalantly, Tokio whispered mockingly, "Aku...Ss..Soku...Zan!"  
  
One sharp eyebrow lifted upwards quizzically before Saitou let out a bemused chuckle. "Very funny, Tokio."  
  
"Good...joke?"  
  
"Aa," he replied, "Best one you've told in at least two weeks."  
  
Tokio pursed her lips and glared at her husband. She was about to inform him that she'd been mute for the past two weeks, when she realized he was teasing her...again.  
  
The couple hadn't traveled three steps towards the entrance of the warehouse when they heard a raucous crash followed by a splash.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou reached the deserted dock a few steps ahead of Tokio. The girls bearing the lanterns had long since fled the scene, but now even Ienobu and Seichii appeared to be missing.   
  
No. A splash of water alerted the cop to the presence of at least one person still living. Tokio behind him, Saitou moved to the edge of the pier and looked into the water. The face of Okita Seichii, dripping wet, stared back at him.  
  
"Where's Fusada?" Hajime asked.  
  
Seichii looked down at the water, dejectedly.   
  
"You let him get away?"  
  
"Well," Seichii said, his voice bordering on a giggle, "Not exactly."  
  
Tokio crept towards her husband's side and looked down at her friend. Seichii bobbed violently to and fro, as if pulled by unseen currents. "Do you need hh...help, S...Seichii?"  
  
"Oh, hello there, Tokio-san!" Seichii called, "No, I'll be fine. You two go on ahead. I'll need to wring out my clothes."  
  
"Hmph," Saitou said to his wife as they walked away from the warehouse, "I was wrong. That ahou. He is nothing like his brother."  
  
Back in the water, Okita Seichii waited for several minutes until he knew that his friends had left the scene. Pulling the heavy object he had been forcing below the waves upwards until it broke the surface, the poet placed his free hand on the edge of the pier to steady himself. Ienobu's body floated upwards, the feminine form even paler in death.   
  
"You were wrong about one thing, Ienobu-san," Seichii said to the dead ninja, whose head he held by what remained of his hair, "A man needn't give up love for the sake of duty. The man you fought today has the nobility of spirit to fight for both. That was your true weakness. You hadn't the strength of virtue to have faith in your own heart or the heart of your beloved."  
  
With those words, Okita Seichii removed the wakizashi skewering the dead ninja's neck and released him into the midnight waters below.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Five months later: Meiji 10, March  
  
Saitou Hajime is 35, and Okita Seichii is 33. Saitou Tokio has just turned 23. Snowflake is very, very fat.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Flip. Flip. Stamp. Flip. Scrutinize carefully. Flip. Flip.   
  
Sometimes, Saitou Hajime had to wonder about extensive volume of paperwork created by this Meiji government. He snarled. So many of the men who ran this era didn't have the balls to say something unpopular, so they ended up hiding everything under mounds of paperwork. They tried to hamper every decisive action with form upon form, too scared to be blamed should something go bad. 'Imbeciles. Don't they know that paper makes a flimsy shield?'  
  
He sorted the papers into three piles, "Useful", "Worthless", and "To be Destroyed". The "Worthless" pile, he noted, had grown extremely large this afternoon. In contrast, the "Useful" pile contained only one folder labeled, "Surveillance Report: Himura Kenshin vs. Udou Jin-'e".  
  
The ex-Shinsengumi captain glared at the file, deep in thought. 'So. Somewhere buried deep beneath the 'bumbling rurouni' act, the Hitokiri Battousai still lives. Like the building pressure of lava beneath the crust of a volcano, he waits for any crack in the mask he created to survive this era, waits to erupt.'  
  
'This wanderer is no sort of man, merely a shell, a casing, a prison for the assassin locked within. Peace will never be known by him. If the Shinsengumi code had even the slightest concession towards compassion, I'd put him out of his goddamn misery. But, instead, I will have to wait for the inevitable. A volcano may sincerely wish to be a mountain, but the nature of the volcano is to destroy. In the end, this desire to be what he is not only makes him more dangerous for those souls clustered in his shadow.'  
  
Through the partially opened shoji, early spring blossomed with all of the pompous grandeur mustered by the ancient city of Edo. Tokio, he knew, had been ripping the budding flowers out of the garden all morning, and replacing them with vegetable seeds. "I don't have a quarrel with flowers," she'd said once, "Just with flower gardens. They make me think of a prison where the residents have been stripped of the freedom to scream."  
  
She had a tendency to say morbid things like that, from time to time.  
  
Saitou wondered about the Kamiya girl. It seemed clear now that she had to be the Battousai's woman. No wonder he hadn't been able to figure out her place in the whole scheme of things. She'd have to be a nigh-Buddha to put up with the brat, the ahou, and that damn rurouni.   
  
'Surely, you see now, Battousai, how your war with yourself puts those around you at risk. If your old procilvities had not surfaced, the Kamiya girl would have perished by Jin-eh's Nikaidou Heibou, if not by his blade. You can not keep this delicate balance for long. For, in this tumultuous world, a vow not to kill is only a vow not to kill as long as there are other options. One of these days, you'll run out of options, Battousai.'  
  
The shoji slid further open, shedding a large rectangle of sunshine upon the tatami mats. Tokio stood silhouetted in the springtime afternoon, escapee wisps from her simple ponytail glowing from the backlighting. Her gardening clothes were slightly smudged at the left hip, and the fingers of her thick gloves hung limply downwards, tucked into her light green colored sash. Snowflake skittered past her feet and entered the room ahead of her, moving to an already warm spot on the tatami in preparation for his ninth nap of the day.  
  
"Won't you have some tea, Hajime?" Tokio stepped inside carrying the black lacquer tray.   
  
"Aa," he replied, waving his wife away dismissively. "Later."  
  
Tokio pursed her lips and knelt carefully, setting the tray down and beginning to make tea, even though her husband had declared otherwise. As he was not one for ceremony, Tokio prepared the tea alone, and then stood to bring the cup, along with a small bowl of soba, to her husband. "Later", she knew, meant she would come back later only to hear the same answer again. And he just simply didn't eat enough for a man his size.  
  
Hajime placed the rest of his papers lengthwise over the Battousai's file, No need to alarm Tokio this afternoon. He'd already told her everything she needed to know about the man, currently. Delving into Himura's latest swordfight would do Tokio no good whatsoever.  
  
Setting the food and drink on the low table that her husband used for working when not at his office, Tokio whispered, "I've had a letter."  
  
"So ka?" Hajime asked, picking up the chopsticks Tokio had brought and beginning to eat.   
  
Tokio remained kneeling beside her cross-legged husband. Putting her hands on his knee as if to brace him for the news, she continued, "From Kozue and Kume."  
  
The answer to that revelation was a derisive snort.  
  
"They are traveling to bring Fujiko to meet her grandmother, and will be passing through Tokyo. I've asked them to..."  
  
"No," Saitou interrupted. "Absolutely not."  
  
"Only for a few days, Hajime. They will only be staying for a few days."  
  
Placing his bowl of soba firmly back on the table, Saitou responded, "I'd rather rip off my own arm and use the severed limb as my weapon in a duel with the Battousai,"   
  
"That isn't funny, Hajime."  
  
"You're right," he replied, scowling at the paperwork laying before him, "It isn't funny at all."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: A visit from old friends turns dark. An accident puts one of the Saitou-gumi's lives on the line. Grief sets friends at each other's throats. And our friends make fun of the Kenshin-gumi.  
  
~*~*~*~ Character Notes: ~*~*~*~  
  
* Fusada Ienobu - Now that I think about it, I liken Ienobu's looks to those of Nuriko from Fushigi Yuugi. Both have purple hair in braids, and both are men who often dress as women. However, Ienobu is decidedly straight.   
  
I should also point out that Ienobu uses the word "kunoichi" more as a title than a description. He is proud of the skills he has learned from the women of the Hachinisasareru, much as Kaoru is proud of being a woman in what was generally considered a man's profession.   
  
I drew a rough sketch of the double naginata, but couldn't figure out a way to transfer it from .bmp to .gif.   
  
* Okita Seichii - Ok. I decline to comment on Seichii for this chapter, merely because I don't want to ruin the next chapter for you.  
  
~*~*~*~ Chronicle and Misc. Notes: ~*~*~*~  
  
* A lot of people asked about the last line from the last chapter. Yes. I did steal it from The Princess Bride. Yes. That was somewhat corny. I apologize deeply.  
  
* I don't know about you, but I would much prefer a man who can find fresh eggs in a snowstorm to a man who makes a gift of an expensive ring he finds in a catfish. But, maybe that is just me. At any rate, I hope the flashback at the beginning of this chapter didn't confuse anyone. If you are wondering about the "rekindle my fire" conversation, I'd recommend going back and reading the first scene from Chapter 1.   
  
* If you were wondering how Ienobu found out about Saitou and Tokio, its because I probably didn't make it very clear. One of the servants in Katsu's household was a Hachinisasareru-loyal spy. That is why Seichii recognized one of the girls holding the lanterns.   
  
* The Hachinisasareru. I had a lot of fun coming up with their techniques. Of course, it is easy to see that most of what Tokio knows about defense and poisons and such comes from her mother's training. In case you are wondering, here are the rundowns of the 3 of the 4 Hachinisasareru techniques revealed so far.  
  
1) Yakusatsu Oku - The hundred million killing poisons  
  
The first thing the Hachinisasareru women learn is how to grow, concoct and manipulate various poisons. Tokio is most fond of putting hers in sweets, as we know, but there are many other applications. Kunoichi were fond of poisoning small, concealable weapons such as the dirk, needles, and spiked rings. Ninjas had slow and fast-acting poisons, poisons that caused failure of a specific organ, sleeping poisons, and even poisons that changed the scent of sweat to make their prey easier to track.  
  
2) Hitosashi no Hachi - Dance of the Bee  
  
These are the dodging techniques of the Hachinisasareru. They tend to use the inertia of the movements of an opponent, as well as the body of the opponent, in order to dodge blows. Ienobu, of course, also uses his naginata for this purpose. Tokio's ability in this area is good, but not perfected to the level of Ienobu, since if Hajime wants, he can usually pin her down with his superior speed and strength. The point of the Hitosashi no Hachi is, of course, is to dodge long enough to make one scratch on the opponent with a poisoned needle, or spiked ring (or barbed wire bound braid!) and then to flee.  
  
3) Sageyoku no Hachi - Flapping Wing of the Bee  
  
This is the "blur" technique that Ienobu uses. According to the story, the high-pitched scream displaces the air, turning causing the ninja to appear as a blur. Of course, due to her voice, it would be impossible for Tokio to use this technique, even if she knew it, which she doesn't.   
  
4) ???? - There is a fourth "Akumu" of the Hachinisasareru. It will not be revealed until much later.  
  
All the Hachinisasareru techniques, as well as their uniform and name, are predicated on a bee theme. What can I say? I like bees. The names, of course, are made up as best I could with a Japanese-English dictionary. And I adore the techniques of the historical kunoichi, which tended to be exceedingly crafty and manipulative.   
  
~*~*~*~ Review Notes: ~*~*~*~  
  
A most wonderful Thank You to everyone who left a review. As always, I am so glad that you enjoy reading this story. I certainly enjoy writing it. So, special thanks to: Angel's Ghost (see above for explanation about Princess Bride quote), fujifunmum, Trupana (Megumi will eventually show up), JK, Lord Vampire, IceRain (Aku Soku Zan!), Dark Flame (Not for a few chapters yet), JadeGoddess (Yes Indeedy!), Kenta Devina (Indeed. Adds a new twist, eh?), Charmed-Anime (I can't tell you that. It would spoil the story! :D ), kakashi-fan (What -will- Tokio say? Hmmmm...),   
  
LSR-7: I do think Saitou does have quite a bit of paranoia. But, it helps him be prepared for anything. Of course, Katsu likes to tease him about it.  
  
Kyaa Kyaff: I'm glad you don't mind my extensive author notes. As you can see, once again, I've been verbose. I also have a growing appendix for this story, which will include the character profiles, links to webpages I used for research, timelines, and other footnotes.   
  
Two Hydrogens: Oh, nonononono. I was not offended in the slightest. You just touched on one of the things that I agonize over when writing this story. I didn't think of Faye Valentine, but you are right. Your comment about Kamatari, though is highly amusing for reasons of later chapters. As for Tokio, I think she is pretty, but not in an astounding way like Ienobu, not in a way that immediately stands out (except for her eyes). I have some pictures of Japanese ladies that I have neen using to base my thoughts of Tokio on, and I will probably post links to them in the Appendix. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the many action scenes in this chapter!  
  
jbramx2: You're the only person so far who finds Naoya amusing, I think. I really like her because she's so completely the opposite of Tokio, but at the same time gives Tokio someone female to relate to. (Kume being too stupid, and Katsu being a bit too scary and similar to Hajime.)   
  
Lady-Videl: Hm. As far as I know, his name in Japanese is "Saitou Hajime", "Saitou"/"Saitoh"/"Saito" being the family name. Of course, in Japan it is more traditional for men to call each other by their last names, which is why most everyone calls Kenshin "Himura", except for his very good friends. I'm not sure why it was the other way around on the movie you saw, but if it was "Requiem For Patriots", that might explain it. That movie has a lot of wackiness.   
  
Kochou570: Thanks. I'm glad you like the story. Now, about Kenshin's scar. If you watch episode 28 of the anime, which is the episode in which we first see Saitou, he fights the Battousai during the Bakumatsu, and Kenshin does have his cross scar. In the OVA/OAVs, it is explained that Kenshin promises Tomoe that he will lay down his sword, but only after peace is assured. He continues to fight for some time, but (if I remember right) eventually moves away from being an assassin and becomes more of a bodyguard. (There are some oblique references to this in the manga when he encounters Jin-eh .) However, as soon as it is assured that the Ishin Shishi will win, Kenshin lays down his sword. (If I have this wrong, anyone, please feel free to correct me.)  
  
Cherry Delight: Hope you are feeling better! Would you like a bloody wakizashi?   
  
*~*~*~ Note Notes ~*~*~*~  
  
Oh my good lord. What is my problem? I've got to cut down on the notes. Maybe I should just save all comments for the very end? 


	10. Chapter 10: Lost Wolf

Author Note: This chapter is long and certifiably depressing. I apologize for both.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 10: ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You can tame a dog with food. You can tame a man with money. But no one can tame a Wolf of Mibu!" -Saitou Hajime  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yamaguchi Katsu stared at the awkward object on her desk. If she didn't know better, she'd suspect the damned thing had just recently been ripped from the most secret innards of a locomotive. Ugly did not begin to describe this 'typewriter', no. You'd have to add many more words, words like 'hideous', and 'grotesque', and possibly even 'monstrous'.  
  
Katsu adored progress, but why did it always have to be so aesthetically displeasing?   
  
"And you say Hiraki sent it?" Katsu asked her assistant, a young woman named Seisaka whose poor looks and overly clever mind had afforded her no other choice than to work for a living.  
  
"Yes ma'am. It arrived by courier this morning. What, if I may ask, exactly -is- it?"  
  
Katsu had already glanced over the accompanying English booklet, so she had a general idea of what this machine was supposed to be. Nonetheless, one could not help but recognize that even if the machine were a fabulous invention of the new era, it was an eyesore. And she certainly wouldn't keep it in her office.  
  
"It's a sign that both of my brothers are utterly hopeless," Katsu said with an exasperated sigh. "Take it and put it somewhere else. Preferably at the bottom of a lake."  
  
"Speaking of your brothers, Yamaguchi-san, would you like me to bring tea up when Fujita-san arrives?"  
  
"I suppose that would be polite, wouldn't it?" Katsu mused dryly. "And we certainly can't have Jirou thinking we're anything less than utterly polite."  
  
"As you wish. Shall I inform Okita-san of Fujita-san's visit?"  
  
"No." Katsu helped her assistant lift the heavy piece of machinery off the desk. "He left instructions not to be disturbed. His work is exceedingly important, now more than ever. If he comes out, however, do see if this -thing- will amuse him. Okita-san has always been so good to me, and I would find myself deeply remiss if that smile of his were to be lost along his journey."  
  
After her assistant had left, Katsu sat in the plush desk chair that accompanied the heavy wood desk. These, too, had been presents from Hiraki. As one of the top advisors of the Ministry of Finance, he could now afford to send lavish gifts to his sister. And, indeed, he had a tendency to indulge in such a habit at least once a month. Hiraki, she suspected, had never truly forgiven himself for the hardships which had befallen their family, and in particular Katsu, after he had left their home village to seek his fortune.   
  
Well, for now, she had the other brother to deal with. Katsu fumed inwardly as she leaned back in her chair, putting her feet on her desk and staring at the ornate ceiling. Jirou...no...Hajime. That insufferable, manipulative, paranoid, one-track minded prick. Unfortunately, she knew, the list also included: insightful, cunning, talented and dedicated.   
  
If he didn't already know the truth, he'd find out soon enough. She expected that he'd asked to visit due to some growing percolation of doubt in his mind. Katsu suspected she'd have to be extremely careful, or she'd end up risking the lives of everyone involved. Especially Okita. And especially Tokio.  
  
Over the past few months, Katsu had found herself becoming fond of her sister-in-law as well as Tokio's young assistant, Meshibe Naoya. Upon their first meeting, Katsu had found Tokio pleasant enough, if not somewhat dull. It seemed reasonable that Hajime would marry a girl who wasn't altogether bright. Less questions for him, Katsu supposed. And of course, it didn't hurt that the girl was quiet and unassuming.   
  
But, over the winter, when Tokio had miscarried for her second time, Katsu had spent a great deal of time with the young woman. Men, of course, were hopeless with such things, and Naoya, though ever-dedicated to her mentor, was still a bit too young and brash to offer any sort of pertainent wisdom.   
  
She'd found that Tokio had many endearing qualities of her own, even if the quiet woman did often come across as rather prudish, self-defeating, and morose. Patience, a keen eye for detail, and a fierce devotion to those she considered family and friends all made Katsu fond of Tokio far beyond the formal bond of sisters-in-law.  
  
And, of course, as much as they both tried to hide it, it was plainly obvious to Katsu how dedicated Hajime and Tokio were to one another.   
  
There had been a concerted effort between Tokio, Okita, Katsu and Naoya to keep the date that Tokio had become pregnant from her husband. They had intimated to him that it had happened in late November, but Tokio's suspicions placed the time only a few days after she'd first seen the Battousai. This would have meant that she'd been with child during her kidnapping by Fusada Ienobu. All parties involved, especially Seichii for some reason, agreed that it would be best if Saitou not know. No one really wanted to give him an excuse to go off looking for the escaped Ienobu.   
  
Secrets, of course, were also being kept from Tokio. As they had promised, neither Katsu nor Seichii had revealed the scandalous details of Tokio's connection to the Hachinisasareru to the young woman. They had told her only that Ienobu sought revenge against Saitou for killing the elder Fusada, an explanation which Tokio seemed more than ready to accept.  
  
So many secrets. Katsu knew it didn't seem likely that all of the secrets could hold up forever. And the most dangerous one... Okita-san was walking a damn thin line, in her opinion.   
  
But, for now, she needed to fend off her brother's questions as best she could.   
  
"Fujita-san to see you, Yamaguchi-san."  
  
"Send him in," Katsu replied, taking her feet off her desk. Not that she felt her brother deserved some sort of show of propriety, it just bode best not to give him any ammunition.  
  
Saitou Hajime walked into the room with his usual air of commanding ferocity mixed with brusque annoyance. He wore his police uniform, and his sword, as if expecting to confront the criminal element at any moment. The man probably wore the damn thing to bed. She'd really have to ask Tokio about that sometime. Though, the other woman might choke to death upon being asked about her husband's sleeping habits. Katsu found the sight of her brother horribly amusing, so much so that she let out a deep guffaw as she motioned for her brother to sit.  
  
Hajime merely stared at her, waiting for her laughter to cease. He had an inkling that she was, for some reason, laughing at his expense. Damn it. Having a conversation with Yamaguchi Katsu required about as much preparation as going to war. Finally, he said, "Are you quite finished?"  
  
"Yes, yes," Katsu replied dismissively, "How are you, Hajime? How is Tokio?"  
  
"Fine." Saitou did not feel it necessary to get into the habit of exchanging pleasantries with Katsu. Nonetheless, knowing that his sister truly did care for his wife, he added, "She spent the better part of yesterday destroying the flower garden in favor of vegetables."  
  
"So ka? And you let her do this? So soon after..."   
  
"My wife can do as she pleases," Saitou interrupted, the irritation in his voice palpable. Thirty seconds. It took Katsu less than thirty seconds to get under his skin. His sister's adeptness at rubbing people the wrong way made him briefly consider using her when he finally decided to move against the Battousai. But, no. You didn't wish Yamaguchi Katsu even on your greatest enemies.  
  
"Well, are you going to tell me why you asked to see me today, Hajime? Since you don't appear to be in the mood to be even the slightest bit civil to your obliging sister, I assume you have some pressing business?"  
  
"Perceptive, Katsu. Too bad you weren't born a man, you might have actually done this world some good."  
  
Sixty seconds. It had only taken her brother sixty seconds to get under her skin. Katsu's flesh crawled at the intended implications of his last statement. If she were a man. That Ienobu fellow was a man, the Battousai was a man, her -brothers- were men. And what, exactly, had they ever done to truly better this world besides cause war, pain, and strife?   
  
Both brother and sister regarded each other cautiously. As if mirror images of one another, they both reached for their cigarettes, Hajime's in his pocket, Katsu's in the top drawer of her desk. Saitou used a match to light his, while Katsu had some elaborate brass contraption on her desk that produced a small flame after several pulls of a lever. A gift from their elder brother, Hiraki, Saitou assumed.  
  
Brother and sister both leaned inwards slightly, each with one hand on the table. Battle stances. Saitou attempted to read his sister, but found her guarded, as always.   
  
Fighting her with a sword would have been so much easier.   
  
"I want to know what the hell is going on here, Katsu," he demanded.  
  
"Whatever could you mean, brother?"   
  
"I've had it looked into. Your books do sell well, and Seichii makes some money, as well, with his poetry and speech writing. But there is nowhere near enough to pay for this house, your carriage, servants and the amount of traveling that you do."  
  
"What are you implying, Jir-kun?" Katsu asked, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"I do not imply. I will say it quite frankly. Where is the money coming from, sister?"  
  
Katsu stood, turning her back to her brother. She crossed her arms as she continued to smoke, exhaling sharply to the side. "I do not see how that is any of your business. I am an independent woman, and I may do as I please. You have no right to delve into my affairs. Stay out of it, Hajime. I am warning you."  
  
"Or what? What threat could you possibly level against me?" Hajime beat one fist against the table, "If you do not tell me, I will eventually get it out of Okita."  
  
Katsu spun, her eyes aflame with an intensity that Saitou had not expected. "You leave him out of this. That man cares more for you and Tokio, for all of us, than you will ever be able to comprehend. I swear by our mother's eyes, if he ever comes to harm by your hand, directly or indirectly, I will go to the ends of the Earth and beyond to make sure you pay for it."  
  
Saitou flicked the growing ash from his cigarette onto his sister's doubtlessly expensive flooring, and ground it into a smudge with the heel of his foot. "A pretty speech, Katsu. But, I will find out what is going on here. You know you can not hide it from me forever. And if it turns out that you are doing anything to dishonor our family name, I will..."  
  
"Spare me the details, Hajime," Katsu sighed, returning to her chair. "Your righteousness always was a bit simpleminded. No wonder you make such a perfect match for Tokio."  
  
"Hmph. Your feeble attempts to invoke my ire amuse me, Katsu. Unfortunately, they have only fueled my resolve to find out what you are hiding." With that, the lanky man stood, "I'm leaving now. If you decide to come to your senses, you know where to find me."  
  
"Come come, Hajime," Katsu called to her brother as he retreated, "Be reasonable. Stay and have tea with me. Tell me about this 'Himura' fellow that Seichii keeps mentioning. I'll at least pretend to be fascinated."  
  
"As surpassingly droll as that sounds, Katsu, I do have other business to which I must attend. Some of us spend our time attempting to fortify this country, protecting the peace and safety you now take for granted." With that declaration, Saitou Hajime left the room.  
  
It took a great deal of willpower not to slam the door behind him.  
  
Katsu only shook her head sadly. 'If only you knew, Jir-kun. If only you knew.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Somewhere above the marketplace of Tokyo, four people sat sequestered away from the din of shoppers and vendors.   
  
Narajirou Kume leaned over the railing, her arms outstretched as if attempting to give the afternoon a hug. "Oi, fa-la-la. Look at the view, Tokio-san. Just look! We're so high up! Hello, Tokyo! Hello, beautiful marketplace!"  
  
"You'd...uh...best come away from the railing, Bunny-chan," Kozue cooed towards his wife. "That wood doesn't look...um...too sturdy."  
  
"Yeah," Naoya mumbled in the direction of Tokio, "She might fall and hit her head. And we wouldn't want -that-."  
  
Tokio suppressed a grin as she continued to feed Fujiko bits of melon. The nine month old child had been greedily taking the fruit and placing it everywhere except her own mouth. This interest in food had led Tokio to decide that the child would become a masterful cook, an opinion which she reinforced by pointing out other items of food on the table and quietly whispering their names to the plump babe in her arms.  
  
"I wonder what is keeping Katsu-san and Okita-san," Naoya mused aloud. "I hate to start eating without them, but, why the fu..." Correcting herself before Tokio could even look up from feeding Fujiko, she said, "Why the fa la la should we let all this food go bad?"  
  
"Naoya-chan..." Tokio began as Fujiko's tiny hands wrapped around a pair of chopsticks.   
  
"Please, Tokio-san! I'm fifteen now!" Naoya hazarded an embarrassed glance towards the Narajirous, who were now both standing near the railing, to see if they had heard. She'd been ever so proud when Tokio-san had invited her along to this very posh restaurant on the second floor, overlooking the marketplace. Obviously, she was to be considered an adult now. Assisting in entertaining guests definitely fell into the area of being a proper lady. Tokio had even commented on how lovely her hair and kimono looked today. Being called 'chan' definitely spoiled the illusion.  
  
"My apologies, Naoya," Tokio whispered, prying the chopsticks away from Fujiko and placing them out of her reach. "We simply can not eat, since this lunch was arranged by Katsu-san. I fear it would be ever so rude to our hostess."  
  
"I'm afraid she won't be able to make it," a cheerful voice said from behind Tokio, "But, I hope I will be acceptable in her stead." Okita Seichii stepped out onto the patio, his radiant smile surpassed in brightness only by the afternoon sun.  
  
Tokio smiled, or rather she tried to smile. In the absence of chopsticks, Fujiko had decided more ready entertainment was to be had by tugging at Tokio's bottom lip. Gently pulling the girl's hand away, Tokio said, "Okita-san, as always your presence brings joy and light to a gathering."  
  
"And what about my presence?" A deeper voice asked, as Hajime stepped out onto the landing as well.   
  
"Ah, yes. And I retrieved your husband, Tokio-san. He seems to think you shouldn't be left alone in my presence. I must be a wicked little man, indeed, that other men should be so protective of their wives around me."  
  
Hajime refused to dignify that statement with a retort. He took a seat beside Tokio, who immediately preoccupied herself with Fujiko so not to have to answer her husband's question.  
  
"Fujita-sensei," Kozue said as he attempted, for the second time, to direct his wife's attention away from the railing. "So glad you could make it. And this must be the illustrious Okita-san that Tokio-san has ano...told us so much about. Pleasure to...uh...please don't lean over so far, my dearest."  
  
"Indeed, I've heard quite a bit about you, as well, Narajirou-san." Seichii remarked. Sitting next to Naoya, Seichii looked at the teenager with impish glee, "I heard you turned fifteen. I suppose now is as good of a time as any to announce our engagement."  
  
"Okita-san!" Naoya exclaimed, blushing for the first time anyone had ever seen. "We're not engaged! Besides, you're far too old for me. And too short."  
  
"I'm deeply hurt, Naoya. Oh well, I suppose I shall have to live on, rejected and broken, as best I can," Seichii replied with mock mournfulness, pouring himself a cup of tea in the process.  
  
"Is there going to be some marrying?" Kume asked, apparently unable to follow the conversation whilst gesticulating excitedly at the skyline of Tokyo. "I do so like weddings, tra la la. So many sweets, and so much sake!"  
  
"It drinks?" Saitou, looking unceasingly bored, barely moved as he asked the question. Why -had- he consented to come along in the first place? Ah yes. To see how much information he could pry out of Seichii about his sister's clandestine activities. And not, he assured himself, to keep an eye on the growing closeness between Tokio and Seichii. No. There would be no reason for that whatsoever.  
  
"Yes! I like sake!" Kume exclaimed. "Sake and making babies! Fun, no?"  
  
The entire patio was stunned for a moment. Eventually, Naoya and Seichii both laughed, Kozue turned bright purple, and Tokio coughed and proceeded to look horrified.  
  
Saitou, on the other hand, grumbled something along the lines of, "Of course. Rabbits are of little use except to make other rabbits."  
  
Fujiko gurgled happily and pulled herself into a standing position on Tokio's lap. Hajime regarded them from the corner of his eye, while keeping the rest of his gaze trained on his accident-prone student and the scatterbrained rabbit girl. 'Strangely, Tokio really is good with children. Every day, Naoya becomes more and more tolerable, less of a whirlwind of tomboyishness. And watching Tokio play with Fujiko..."  
  
A scene of snow and blood twisted itself through Saitou's mind. A girl laying in a bin of trash, bleeding. His sword. His own goddamn sword. No. He would not regret. He would not doubt.  
  
"Is something wrong, Hajime?" Tokio asked. "You had the strangest look on your face just now. Oh, no no, Fujiko. That is hot."  
  
"Hn. I'm just wondering what could be so terribly important to keep my sister away from such a -charming- outing." The acid in Saitou's voice was enough to cause even Fujiko to pout.  
  
"I'm afraid she didn't say," Seichii replied, "But, I would assume there is some problem with her publisher. Some of her books are being translated into Chinese. Terribly exciting, don't you think?"  
  
Naoya resisted the urge to squirm while kneeling. Sitting like this really put a strain on her ankles. What was so bad about sitting cross-legged, anyway? "Not really. Chinese is all gibberish, as far as I can tell. Besides, what's the big deal about some stupid books? The real world is so much more exciting."  
  
"Quite so," Seichii agreed with his usual aplomb, "And in the real world, we must eat. So, shall we?"  
  
"But look," Kume exclaimed, "There is some sort of commotion in the street! Sumo wrestlers..."  
  
Kozue, the blood finally having drained from his head due to the earlier comment by Kume, looked to where his wife had pointed. "Oh dear, that redheaded man has a sword. Ano, looks bad all around."  
  
A flash of glances shot around the table. Tokio looked up from her quiet conversation with Fujiko towards the pair standing at the railing. Saitou eyed his wife. Naoya's head turned sharply to the left to seek a response from Fujita-san. And a chopstick cracked in half in Seichii's hand, as the smile on his face dropped completely away.  
  
Upon hearing the snap, Kozue looked towards the table at the quartet of startled individuals. "Oh, thank goodness, ano, that it wasn't me who broke something this time." Noting the expressions on the faces of the four, he continued, "Don't...uh...worry. Just a chopstick, you know?"  
  
Finally, an almost inaudible whisper issued from Tokio's lips. "I'll go look."  
  
"No," Saitou said, as hand shot out and the crook of Tokio's arm. "Stay put."  
  
"I have to agree with Fujita-san," Seichii agreed softly, "There is really no reason to subject yourself to that, again. It would be awful if..."  
  
"Please. I must. I don't want to be afraid forever. Naoya, if you would hold Fujiko for a moment..."  
  
"I wanted to see, too," Naoya whined.  
  
"I'll hold her," Seichii offered, "I'm good with kids. Besides, if you hand her to Fujita-san, her first words would likely be Aku..."  
  
"Don't even say it, Okita," Saitou warned.  
  
After handing Fujiko to the waiting arms of the poet, Tokio and Naoya stood and made their way to the railing where Kozue and Kume had been observing the action in the street. Both of Tokio's hands clamped around the railing for support. Naoya stood next to her mentor, appearing immensely worried.  
  
In the commotion of the street, Tokio watched the tiny figure with the red hair and disturbingly bright fuchsia gi carry a yoke with buckets on his shoulders. Nearby, she noticed Myojin Yahiko, whom her husband had informed her had fallen in with the infamous Hitokiri. Two other figures stood nearby, a tall boy dressed in white, and a young woman.  
  
But, the hitokiri. Tokio's visage clouded with sadness as she watched how openly they all moved through the street. As if the Revolution had never happened, as if he'd never committed a single crime. How could he get away with carrying a sword in the streets of Tokyo? Of all people, what right did he have to continue to live? To smile? To laugh? What right did he have to speak with such a clear voice, when hers had been stolen?  
  
"Well, he's just silly looking," Naoya commented. "He's even shorter than Okita-san."  
  
"He has hair like a spoiled pumpkin!" Kume chimed in, "Rotten pumpkin-head, tra la la!"  
  
Tokio did have to admit that, from this distance at least, the Hitokiri Battousai didn't appear overly threatening. In fact, he looked more like one of the market's beggars to whom she might slip a coin or two on her way home. And really, it was quite ridiculous the way his hair clashed with his gi.  
  
"Ano, who is that man, Tokio-san?" Kozue asked.  
  
"A volcano posing as a mountain," Saitou responded, watching the foursome at the railing. Seichii, on the other hand, seemed engrossed in playing with Fujiko, cooing simple rhymes to the child as he bounced her on his knee.  
  
"He's..." Tokio began, "He's just a man. No matter how skilled or deadly. He's just a mortal man."  
  
'He will be judged,' Tokio thought to herself, 'Teishu will fight him, and teishu will win. Because all evil falls to my husband's sword. He has never failed.'  
  
Naoya pointed towards Yahiko. "Look at the little one. He looks kinda like some sort of slimy rat, don't you think?"  
  
"It takes a rat-girl to know a rat-boy, I'd say," Saitou commented, his attention being drawn away from his wife. Something was wrong here, something on the patio. Something having to do with Seichii. But, no. The poet looked normal, if a bit ridiculous, as Fujiko began to climb up Seichii's gi like a miniature mountaineer.  
  
"Don't you want to see, Okita-san?" Naoya asked.  
  
"Not really," the temporary babysitter replied, "I'd probably have nightmares about it. You know me."  
  
Kume pointed at Sanosuke, "What is wrong with the tall one's head? It looks like he's been in an explosion or something. A hair explosion."  
  
Tokio had stopped listening. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman standing with the trio. What had her husband said the woman's name was? Kamiya? Tokio had imagined her monstrous, maybe a bit like Katsu-san with demonic eyes and wearing men's clothes. But this woman, no, girl, wore a kimono, and had her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn't appear to be a warrior, some sort of wild Amazon woman of fable. No. Just a simple girl. And the way she looked at Himura Battousai, the way Kamiya-san's shoulders and posture always seemed to mold towards some invisible field emitted by the Hitokiri, stunned Tokio beyond belief. Was this girl...in love with the legendary assassin? Surely not. Surely someone had informed her of the danger that she might be in, even now, even in this most public place.  
  
"Tokio-san? Tokio-san, are you alright?"  
  
"I'm alright, Naoya," Tokio whispered. "I think I'll go sit back down and have some food. Won't you join me? Kozue? Kume?"  
  
"Hai, fa la la!"  
  
Unfortunately, just at that moment another figure stepped onto the landing, a young woman with her left side caked with mud. Her face and hands bore numerous scratches and superficial wounds. She wobbled forward unsteadily as her breath came in exhausted pants. Seisaka, Katsu's personal assistant, looked like she'd just stepped out of one of the worst battles of the Revolution.  
  
"Seisaka!" Seichii exclaimed, handing baby Fujiko back to her mother, "What happened?"  
  
"You must...come quick, Okita-san," Seisaka finally managed to say. "Its Katsu-san. Her carriage...there's been an accident. The doctor says...she doesn't have long."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kneeling beside the western style bed of her sister-in-law, Tokio put her hand gently on Katsu's. On the other side, Okita Seichii sat in a similar position, his ever-present smile having long disappeared. His usually cheerful expression replaced with something akin to the ethereal emptiness exuded by many a polished marble statue, the poet appeared all but immobile.  
  
The only other person in the room, Tokio's husband, lurked in the shadows beyond the glowing circumference created by the two candles on either side of Katsu's bed. Stuttering wisps of incense smoke rose from brass containers at the east and west ends of the room, doing their best to cover the bitter odor of blood and the intangible perfumes of the arrival of eternal sleep. A sliver of light, a dagger of brightness, which had escaped from between heavy curtains drawn to exclude the afternoon from the familial scene, cut through the room diagonally across Katsu's bed.  
  
Beyond the oak doors, the occasional stifled sob or shuffle of feet could be heard as the servants and other family friends waited for the news. The doctor had taken his leave some time previous, asking if a monk or other religious figure should be sent for to perform the last rites of Katsu's choosing. To this, the dying woman had replied, "I need no man to usher me into the next world. I'm perfectly capable of getting there myself."  
  
Katsu, herself, lay beneath several layers of blankets, her unrepairable body as hidden as her own concern for the inevitable. Her face washed and gently graying hair unbound, she seemed older and more frail than Tokio could recall noticing. Although her cheeks and eye sockets appeared sunken, causing her face to reflect a veritable canyon of plains and shadows, Katsu's gaze nonetheless remained steady, still burning with some remnant of the defiance with which she lived her life.  
  
"Tokio-imoto," Katsu began, her voice quiet but steady, "Please care for my brother and for Okita, but never do so at the cost of your own happiness. You are deserving of your own smiles."  
  
"Yes, Onesan, I shall try my hardest," Tokio replied, squeezing Katsu's hand as she fought back tears.  
  
"And Seichii. My dear, dear friend. Try not to worry. Your brother sees all that you do and all that you have done, as do I. I thank you, deeply, for everything."  
  
Seichii, unable to respond vocally, pressed his cheek against Katsu's other hand in response.  
  
"Jirou?" Katsu called, unable to locate her brother visually due to the increasing dimness of her sight.  
  
"Aa," Saitou responded, taking a step forward from the shadows. The oblique angles of his face took on a jagged relief in the unnatural light. With his arms crossed at his chest he said, "I am here, Katsu."  
  
"Jirou, you once killed a man to preserve my honor. And since that day, every decision you have made has been weighed with a true and righteous heart. But, you are not the only person who has ever shoulder the burden of hard choices. Try to be more forgiving of others, Jirou, especially if you feel you must continue to be such an insufferable ass."  
  
After a long pause of consideration, Saitou begrudgingly responded to his dying sister. "Alright, Katsu." His fisted hands clenched only minutely as Katsu's eyes seemed to glaze over, her sight into the world beyond her own body and spirit completely disappearing. Katsu's breathing soon became difficult, but she did not seem to struggle against the pain.   
  
Finally, the matronly elder sister of the Yamaguchi family said with a regretful sigh, "If only...I'd been born a man...the things...I would have done..."  
  
And with those words, Yamaguchi Katsu's face became slack, and she was gone.  
  
Tokio, forcing back her own tears, laid Katsu's hand to rest upon her chest and closed the dead woman's eyes. Okita Seichii, head and shoulders already bent and sporatically convulsing with his silent sobs, pushed his face into the bedding to muffle a heart-wrenching wail.  
  
All the while, Saitou Hajime made no sound whatsoever, his face remaining as stoic as granite. He loomed at the foot of Katsu's deathbed, regarding the scene with what appeared to be an absolute lack of emotion. As his wife stood to move to the other side of the bed in an attempt to console Seichii, their gazes locked. Tokio froze in her path, stunned by cutting precision of her husband's stare, as if the current sharpness in his eyes could only be matched by the blade of his katana. Tokio found the expression unreadable, but infinitely alarming. She'd only seen its match once before, once when her husband had been lost to her for a year and a half.   
  
"Hajime...?" Tokio whispered.  
  
The brooding man made no reply to his wife. Whatever could have been said? He'd seen so many people die, enemies, innocent bystanders, comerades in the Shinsengumi, even Okita Souji. In the end, could anything really be said? The dead were dead. The terrific continuation of the cycle of mortality, just like his own personal moral code, made no allowances for needless shows of sympathy, outrage, guilt or vengeance. Mourning would change nothing.   
  
Besides, he could not express what he did not feel. And Saitou Hajime felt nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
Flicking his wrist in a dismissive movement towards Tokio, Saitou turned for the door. Once outside, Tokio heard him say, "She's gone." A renewed cacophony of sobs and moans made their way through the heavy door as Tokio decided to turn her attention towards the distraught poet.  
  
Kneeling besides Seichii, Tokio put her arm around his shaking shoulders and attempted to pull him away from his position of smothering his cries into the bedding. He resisted on the first and second try, but by the third, Seichii's body pliantly folded into Tokio's grasp, collapsing like a rag doll against the younger woman. Feeling the stuttering sobs issuing from Seichii's small frame against her chest caused Tokio's own tears to finally overflow from her eyes as her throat began to burn and choke with sadness.   
  
Finally, Seichii began to speak haltingly, "I...I failed...I failed him. I failed her...I couldn't...I just wanted to show him...my gratitude...for being there..."  
  
Having no idea what Seichii was talking about, Tokio could only stroke the overwrought poet's hair gently. She found it alarmingly feather soft, like the hair of a child. "Its alright, Sei-kun. Whatever it is, I'm sure she understands."  
  
Together, they stayed by Katsu's side holding vigil far into the night.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"The carriage lost a wheel," Seisaka had explained to Tokio between heavy breaths, "I had been riding up with the driver, so I was thrown clear, but Katsu-san...she was...pulled along underneath the wreckage."  
  
Katsu's young assistant had broken down into uncontrollable sobs upon telling her tale, and now sat, leaning against Tokio, soaking the sleeve of that woman's kimono with her tears.  
  
Naoya had arrived sometime after that, having stayed the night at the house on Taito street with Kozue and Kume. After shedding a few tears of her own, Naoya had shown incredible strength and maturity, heading into the kitchens and preparing food for the tired residents of the Yamaguchi house. Since then, young Naoya had been cleaning the formal reception areas of the house in preparation for the arrival of guests who would be sure to come to pay their last respects later in the week.   
  
However, when Tokio had asked if her husband had returned to their house during the evening, Naoya replied that he had not. This disturbed Tokio greatly, even more than the complete emotional breakdown of Okita Seichii.   
  
'Where could you have gone, Hajime?'  
  
That look that she had seen in his eyes reminded her altogether of the hopeless feral look she had experienced in Osaka. He looked like an injured animal, one preparing to strike even the hand that might attempt to free it from a trap. Tokio wondered if her husband even felt anything, if he was capable of feeling anything, for the loss of his sister. He'd seen so much death, he steeped himself in blood, ever unflinching. Was he so desensitized by his own missions that he would be unable to even offer some sort of mild regret over his sister's death?  
  
"Tokio-san?"  
  
Naoya had been standing in front of her mentor for some time, trying to get the other woman's attention. Finally, Tokio looked up, staring dumbly at the young woman in front of her.  
  
"Tokio-san, Narajirou-san is downstairs. He's going to send Kume-san and little Fujiko on to Fujiko's grandmother's house, but has decided to stay and assist with the funeral arrangements."  
  
Tokio nodded in response. Good old Kozue. Tokio didn't doubt that this decision by Kozue had something to do with the disappearance of her husband. Just like in Osaka, she knew, her friend would stick by her side until Hajime returned. Although the similarities between Kozue and Okita Seichii had not gone unnoticed by Tokio, both men being good natured and quick to smile, it was not hard to realize that both bore completely different hearts. While Okita Seichii burned as brightly as a sun, lavishly bathing the world around him in the glow of his own radiant personality (or, in this case, starkly depriving the world of said glow), Narajirou Kozue could be more easily likened to the moon. He reflected some unknown light, leading the wayward and fallen through the darkness towards a comforting peace.  
  
"Thank him for me, will you, Naoya?" Tokio whispered, "And would you please take Seisaka downstairs and perhaps assist her in finding some food and drawing a bath? It would do no good for all of her scratches to become infected."  
  
"Yes, Tokio-san. Though, you too should think of having some food soon." The deep concern on Naoya's face caused Tokio to resist responding with the truth, she didn't feel able yet to eat.  
  
"I shall, I promise. But, first I'd like to look in on Okita-san. He's such a gentle soul, and he has taken this so hard."  
  
As Naoya led Seisaka down the stairs, Tokio stood and headed towards Seichii's room. It would be best, she reminded herself, not to trouble the diminutive poet with the disappearance of Hajime. Seichii had been with Katsu now for perhaps five or six years, maybe more. He had likely grown attached to the woman as almost a surrogate for his own brother. No wonder he had practically collapsed in grief.  
  
"Seichii?" Tokio whispered, pushing open the door. The futon lay empty, and Okita Seichii was nowhere in sight.   
  
'Oh, Seichii. Not you too.'  
  
Trying not to panic, Tokio searched the nearby rooms. Eventually, she found him standing in Katsu's office and library, staring blankly at one of the walls of books. Seichii's arms hung limply at his sides, seeming suddenly too small for his olive colored gi. As Tokio approached, she found herself disheartened by the look in Seichii's eyes. Like her husband, he seemed lost, unable to comprehend the world around him. But, unlike Hajime, his eyes contained none of the cutting ferocity and piercing disdain. Seichii looked just like some confused little boy.  
  
"When I was young," he began in the breathy voice of someone who had recently shed too many years, "My brother used to sometimes read to me. I remember how he sounded, so clear, reading each word as if it he truly meant it, as if he were right there with the characters. He would tell me later that it didn't matter what the author said, merely that they had the strength to say it. Just like Katsu-san. She always had the strength to say exactly what she thought, to put everything right out in the open."  
  
"As do you, Seichii, as do you," Tokio whispered.  
  
"No, Tokio-san. I am a coward, too afraid of losing those I love. Always too afraid of what others will think."  
  
"You are part of our family now, Seichii. No matter what, you will always be most dear to us." Tokio placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Please. Let me make you some tea that will help you sleep."  
  
Instead of responding to her suggestion, Seichii's hands flinched as if shocked by a brief pulse of electricity. "Saitou-san is gone, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes. I'm afraid he is," Tokio replied, attempting to sound much calmer than she felt.  
  
"Just like a wolf to go off and nurse his own wounds. Don't worry, Tokio-san. He'll return."  
  
"Yes. I know he will. He's never broken a promise to me yet."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It started with a footnote. Just a single comment on the bottom of a file, one that could have easily been overlooked. Especially in a document as thick as the Kanryuu file, the one brief passage likely would have escaped the notice of any other, less dedicated, man. But nothing, no matter how small, ever slipped past Saitou Hajime.   
  
Almost distrusting his eyes at first, Saitou read the comment again in disbelief.   
  
"The true capabilities of Kanryuu's advanced Gattling gun are detailed in document 46175 by Okita Seichii."  
  
Okita Seichii? Why would a poet and political speech writer have a document on file regarding one of the most powerful weapons of the age? Saitou quickly requisitioned the document in question, and found exactly what the footnote had promised, detailed plans for the black market Gattling gun that Kanryuu had purchased, along with a list of prices.  
  
All in the overly exacting handwriting of Okita Seichii.  
  
Saitou slammed the document down on his desk, furious. What was this? He had to know, and he had to know now. Thankfully, the criminal in question, Kanryuu, lay imprisoned in a jail cell only a short walk from his office.   
  
Gathering his gloves and brushing an errant bit of ash from the sleeve of his uniform, the Miburo headed out the door. Already, the sun had set for the day, and the halls of police headquarters had become barren of most life, the night shift being sparse and mostly already deployed to trouble spots around the city. The few officers who remained steered far clear of the lanky man storming down the hallway, having already heard the rumors about the exacting deadliness of Lieutenant Fujita Goro.  
  
Especially now. Over the past two weeks, Officer Fujita had been a constant presence at headquarters. A frightening presence, at that. He'd even pinned an underling up against a wall for only the most minor insubordination. And once, it was said, he had drawn his sword during a disagreement with the police chief. But, no one could confirm that rumor, and none of the officers wished to risk their very jobs by confronting either of the two men in question. Nonetheless, everyone knew that Lieutenant Fujita worked extremely late into the evening, and arrived far before the day shift arrived.  
  
Saitou hadn't returned home once in the two weeks. Instead, he chose to take up temporary residence at an inn near to his office, allowing him closer proximity to his work. Distractions now would be unforgivable, now when surveillance on Himura Battousai was so important. Tokio would understand, as always. His mission, sacrosanct to his very being, could not be avoided. She had to know that nothing could sway him from this path, not even the death of his sister. Besides, nothing could be done for Katsu now. Funerals were merely elaborate rituals to comfort the living, and he had no need of such comfort.  
  
"Lieutenant Fujita!" one of the guards exclaimed as the tall man appeared soundlessly from the oppressive darkness of the underground jail. "Here to see Kanryuu again?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Good. That guy is a bastard. Plus, he cries at night like a girl. Anyway, here are the keys. Have fun. I promise, if anyone asks, I didn't hear nothin'."  
  
Saitou walked to the end of the hall and opened the heavy iron door to find Kanryuu still awake, sitting in the absolute blackness of the cell, staring into indeterminate space.  
  
"I've already told you everything I know about the Battousai and the Oniwabanshu and the opium and the gun. There's no point in asking, because I have no more to tell," Kanryuu explained, his voice the droning murmur of a broken man.  
  
"So ka?" Saitou asked, taking out a cigarette. As he lit it, he watched Kanryuu's pupils contract at the introduction of light. "Then perhaps a different line of questioning is in order. Tell me what you know of Okita Seichii."  
  
"The name doesn't sound familiar."  
  
His free hand traveling to the hilt of his sword, Saitou asked, "Would you swear your left eye on it?"  
  
Being a generally cowardly man by nature, Kanryuu didn't need long to consider the threat. "Yeah. I know him. We met at a rather lavish party held by a chemist acquaintance of mine about a year ago. The place was stocked with Tokyo's most elite intellectuals. Anyway, somehow I got into a conversation with Okita-san about recent advancements in weaponry. He had some very provocative insights on the subject, and seemed most interested in the Gattling gun in particular. Later, after we had a few more meetings, he revealed to me his true profession: an arms dealer. Posing as a poet and a political speech writer, he was able to travel freely between intellectuals, inventors, and scientists...and politicians interested in his wares."  
  
"Clever," Saitou said, not revealing one ounce of the anger that had begun to churn within his innards. "I assume you bought the Gattling gun from him?"  
  
"No," Kanryuu replied, "The model I had was the very latest in technology. Okita-san wanted to get his hands on my contacts so he could turn around and sell them at an obscene profit to the most interested party."  
  
"The most interested party?"  
  
"The Meiji government, of course."  
  
Right then, Saitou Hajime needed a drink.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she'd seen her husband. Really, though, Tokio knew she didn't have any reason to be alarmed. He'd left before, and he'd leave again. 'He does tend to tell me he is leaving, though, nowadays. I suppose I can't really expect him to be able to do so all the time. Still, he didn't even come to Katsu's funeral. Is he upset? Does he even care? I know they didn't get along too well, but this seems mildly excessive. Hajime isn't completely heartless. Surly and focused, perhaps, but not heartless.'  
  
"Ano, Tokio-san, this is all so complicated," Kozue said by way of observation, indicating the piles and piles of paperwork stacked on Katsu's desk. "I wish Hiraki-san could have stayed. He...uh...seems good with things like these."  
  
Yamaguchi Hiraki. He had, of course, shown up for the funeral of his sister. Tokio liked him well enough, but found him lacking the passion and fire of his two younger siblings. Mostly, he seemed to be a reserved and scholarly man of few words. "Yes, but it would be too rude to keep him from his important job at the Finance Department just to help us sort out Katsu's household expenses. Besides, we just have to worry about this month and next. After that, I'm certain that Okita-san will be well enough again to deal with such trifles."  
  
"I should have paid more attention to my studies," Kozue replied, plopping down cross-legged on the floor of Katsu's office to go through stacks of paper which had even accumulated there. "These transactions, ano, are all so confusing. Good thing I'm decent with a bokken, because I'd, um, make a horrible bank clerk."  
  
"I'm afraid I'm in the same boat as you, Kozue," Tokio whispered. Besides the little money she made in the market, which her husband considered hers, Hajime took care of all the finances. "I just don't understand all these notations and names and..."  
  
Right then, the door to the office slammed open so loudly that Tokio could have sworn the hinges should have cracked. Both of the room's occupants jumped, with Kozue dropping an inkwell on a stack of papers, and Tokio's hand flying to clutch the scarf around her throat. Looking up, she half expected to see the person in her life with the greatest predilection towards slamming doors, her husband. Instead, in the doorway, ragged from his recent lack of sleep, stood Okita Seichii. His head bowed, he took giant gasps of air, as if he had been running.  
  
"Leave...those...things...alone!" Seichii commanded in a growl, his voice lower and wilder than Tokio could remember. "Don't touch anything!"  
  
"Seichii?" Tokio whispered as she slowly stood from her position kneeling among the stacks of papers, "Are you...quite alright?"  
  
As if suddenly remembering himself, Seichii's hand flew to his lower face, covering his mouth and nose as he took a step backwards. Still panting, he let out a short moan of horror. "Oh, Tokio-san, Narajirou-san, I'm so sorry. I forgot...I didn't mean to startle you. Please forgive me..."  
  
Seichii leaned against the doorway, his eyes wide at the horror of his own actions. Tokio's lips pressed together in thought for only a moment before she addressed Kozue. "Kozue, won't you go downstairs and see if Naoya requires any help when she goes to the market this afternoon?"  
  
"Um..." Kozue replied, looking from Seichii to Tokio and back again. For a moment, Tokio thought the young kendo instructor might deny her request, which actually lightened her heart a bit. The very thought that Kozue might believe she'd need to be protected from the harmless poet would have been exceptionally amusing under other circumstances. "Certainly, Tokio-san."  
  
As Kozue left, Tokio made her way across the room. She stopped about two feet from Seichii, whose gaze searched the floor blankly. "Please don't be embarrassed, Seichii. Everyone understands you are not yourself right now. No one will judge you for this. But, please, you mustn't overexert yourself."  
  
"Please promise me, Tokio," Seichii said, falling forwards to end up on his knees in front of her. Grasping one of Tokio's hands, he lifted it to his face, rubbing it against his cheek in an expression of supplication that made Tokio's heart ache with pity. "Please promise to leave these papers for Seisaka. I've been so much trouble to you already..."  
  
Tokio knelt down as well. Crooking one finger underneath Seichii's chin, she lifted his face. "Of course, Seichii, of course. Now, please, won't you go out into the garden with me? Some fresh air will do you good."  
  
"Will you read to me, Tokio-san?" Seichii asked, his voice once again becoming small and childlike.  
  
"Yes. I certainly shall."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sanzou Tsubame hummed a bit to herself as she placed various dishes on her tray. Tae pretended not to notice her young assistant's chipper spirit. 'Might it have something to do with Yahiko-chan's promise to come by tomorrow to help us clean out the ovens?' A wicked grin crossed Tae's face which she replaced with a look of innocence and a whistle as Tsubame walked past.  
  
"Here you go, Ijiti-san, fresh and hot, just the way you like it," Tsubame said, kneeling down to place the plates of food in front of the old woman who nodded happily and began to eat.  
  
'So nice and quiet in here today,' Tsubame thought, 'Especially since Sagara-san hasn't come in today to cause a ruckus.'  
  
Delivering her last bit of food, Tsubame turned to head back to the kitchen. She felt so lighthearted that she wanted to skip, but Tae would probably make fun of her again if she gave in to such a childish impulse.   
  
Suddenly, a fiercely tight grip on her wrist shook Tsubame from her thoughts. It pulled her to the side so quickly that Tsubame stumbled and ended up on her knees in front of the most secluded booth in the Akabeko. Shaking her short hair out of her face, Tsubame looked up to find sinister yellow eyes staring back at her. The man snarled from behind the jutting black blades of hair falling in his face.  
  
"You should be more careful, mouse-girl," Saitou said with a sneer, moving his face close to Tsubame's, his strong hand still crushing her wrist, "Predators lurk in every corner."  
  
"Itai," Tsubame squeaked, squirming openly as she tried to back away.  
  
"Bring...me....more....sake," Saitou said, enunciating each word clearly for the scared waitress. How many times was he going to have to tell her? No wonder he never came into this place. It reeked of blood and burning flesh and the service bordered on reprehensible. The soba shop closer to his house would have been preferable, but...  
  
Saitou released Tsubame's wrist with a quick push, causing the young woman to skitter across the aisle and come to a stop with her back against the far wall. She raised her circular serving tray to cover most of her face, peering back at the aggressive man in the booth as her eyes grew widened. Seconds later, she disappeared, running wildly back to the kitchen with total disregard for the other patrons.   
  
Pouring the last of his sake into the shallow cup, Saitou eyed the package at his side. The name Okita Seichii seared through his mind like hot coals.   
  
Okita Seichii was an illegal arms dealer. The information gleamed from Kanryuu combined with the collaborating document he had found explained so much. It certainly explained Katsu's money. And it explained why Katsu traveled so often. She must have been working for Seichii, either selling arms abroad or meeting with potential clients. She was probably even going on an assignment for that snake when her carriage crashed.   
  
Everything had been such an elaborate act. And now everything had to be called into question. Seichii's concern over the Hitokiri Battousai. Had it been an act to try to find out if the assassin's new plans would involve a purchase of weapons? And what of the convenient disappearance of Ienobu? Had Seichii made some sort of underhanded arms deal with the ninja whilst Saitou rescued Tokio inside the warehouse?   
  
And all the more revolting was the thought that Seichii had been leeching money off the government, draining them by charging overly exorbitant prices for weapons, while probably, at the same time, selling weapons to contrary factions as well. Sickening. Foul. Utterly contemptible.   
  
'Okita Seichii. How could I have been fooled by you? I should have known, but I let my regard for your brother color my perceptions, blind me from the obvious. I let you into my house, trusted you with my sister and even my wife.'  
  
His wife.   
  
Right now, Tokio could be with Seichii. And, if Seichii hadn't balked at lying to them, what else would he be capable of doing? His acting skills were extraordinary. What couldn't he convince Tokio to do in the absence of her husband?   
  
Saitou slammed back the last of the sake, barely noting the bitterness as it slid down his throat. Grabbing the package at his side, he tossed a few coins on the table and left the Akabeko.  
  
He didn't have time to wait around for that lazy mouse-girl.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Do you miss her, Narajirou-san?" Naoya asked as she folded one of Katsu's western "tablecloths" and put it into the crate. They had been going through Katsu's linens and dishes, trying to decide which ones should be kept, and which ones it would be best to pack away for now. "Kume-san, that is?"  
  
"Ano, yes. Very much, Naoya. Two weeks seems such a desperately long time to be away from my wife. I don't know...um...how Fujita-sensei does it."  
  
"I'm glad you're here, though. And Kume-san should be coming back with Fujiko-chan in a few days, ne?"  
  
"Actually," Kozue said, smiling a bit as he struggled to wrap a delicate plate, "Don't tell Kume, but I was a bit glad not to have to see my mother-in-law. She's...uh...a bit scary."  
  
Simultaneously, an uproarious crash came from the next room, and the delicate plate slipped out of Kozue's hands and broke into dozens of pieces on the floor. However, instead of being concerned for the expensive platter he had broken, Kozue sprinted across the room and retrieved his bokken from where he had placed it against the wall.   
  
"Please stay here, Naoya-san," Kozue said as he raced out the door.  
  
Paying no attention, Naoya stood up to follow him, mumbling, "Oi. What the fuck is going on now? I was -trying- to have a goddamned polite conversation here."  
  
They found the front doors to Katsu's house completely demolished. Standing among the wreckage, the late afternoon sun at his back, towered Saitou Hajime, katana drawn, his other hand holding an oblong package wrapped in cloth.  
  
"Fujita-sensei!" called Kozue, glad to slip his bokken back through the loops of his grey hakama. But, why had his old teacher broken the door down? "So glad to...uh...see you?"  
  
"Where is he, Kozue? Where's Okita?"   
  
"Ano, in the gardens, I think, with Tokio-san. But, are you..." Kozue didn't have a chance to finish the question. Saitou had already strode past, heading towards the back of the manor. Kozue and Naoya exchanged bewildered glances and then both took off running off after him.  
  
Spring that year had already taken on the heavy quality that Tokio associated with burden. The burden to live, the burden to grow. Flowers that survived the long winter compelled themselves from the womb of earth only to be met with the horrors of the world above: insects, oppressive sunlight, the possibility of drought. Trees succumbed once again to the process of sprouting blossoms, hoping fruitlessly to impress passerby with the idea that life might continue in such beauty forever. Such was the tyranny of the flora, mocking those with doubtful hearts, ceaselessly taunting humanity with illusory hope.  
  
The light breeze that wandered through the garden played with the open pages of the book that lay by Tokio's hip, creating a whir of paper flipping carelessly without a reader. But, any chill from the wind had been offset by the warmth of the body of Okita Seichii, who lay sleeping with his head and shoulders in her lap. As Tokio leaned her own weary head back against the massive tree under which they sat, she curled one arm around his shoulders so as not to dislodge the sleeping poet.   
  
Seichii really looked so incredibly peaceful when he slept, Tokio noticed. The few times she'd been awake to watch her husband sleep, she noted that he barely looked any less focused than he did while awake. Sleeping, for Hajime, Tokio had decided, must be simply another task that needed to be performed in order to keep the body healthy. But, Seichii, he no longer appeared to even be the same person in his sleep.  
  
Tokio wondered if Seichii's brother had been more like Hajime. Just from few times that her husband had spoken of Okita Souji, she realized that he had been, perhaps, one of the few people who had ever commanded her husband's ultimate level of respect. But, it was hard to imagine a man who looked poet in her lap but who bore the countenance and mind of a warrior.  
  
Poor Seichii. He wore his happiness as plainly as his sadness, exposed for all the world to see. Years ago, she might have conspired to help put the man out of his own misery. She'd considered it unnecessary to feel that much pain. But now, her only thoughts directed her to do everything in her power to assist Seichii to smile again. Without knowing that his smile could emerge from behind even this dark cloud, how could she ever hope to save her own smile?  
  
"Tokio!"  
  
From somewhere between the river between awake and asleep, Tokio heard the voice of her husband. But, from which side did he call her? Tokio's arm wrapped more securely around Seichii as she pulled herself back into the waking world. Opening her eyes, she found her husband standing a few yards away, his katana drawn. He held at his side a long package wrapped in cloth and secured with cord.  
  
"Hajime, you've returned," Tokio whispered. She allowed her heart to begin to fill with relief briefly, but halted as she surveyed her husband. His police uniform appeared to be...ruffled. No, that wasn't it. His katana had been drawn. No. What was it? What was wrong?  
  
His eyes.   
  
Tokio's mind flashed to a darkened room. On her hands and knees she stumbled towards the back shoji, only to be lifted by her hair and smashed against the wall. Hot breath on her cheek ripe with the smell of sake.  
  
And those eyes. Those feral amber eyes filled with unmistakable disgust.  
  
"Get up, Tokio," Saitou said, the downward-pointed katana in his hand snapping to the side, causing the premature beheadings of several wildflowers.   
  
'Calm. I must remain calm,' Tokio told herself as Naoya and Kozue appeared on the path behind her husband. Placing her hand lightly on Seichii's hair, Tokio whispered entreatingly, "Okita-san is asleep now, Hajime. If I move, he shall wake."  
  
The very sight of that parasite nestled against his wife made Saitou's grip on his sword tighten to a painful degree. Okita Seichii's sinister lies had gotten Katsu killed, had sullied the Yamaguchi family name, had spread a plague of corruption in the Meiji government, endangered the people of Japan, and had almost made a fool of Saitou Hajime himself. He would not -also- have Tokio.  
  
Or, had he already had Tokio?  
  
"I said -get up-!"  
  
Tokio heard the battle cry of her husband only echoed in her mind moments after he had reached out and grabbed a fistful of her kimono at the shoulder, dragging her across the grass savagely and depositing her in front of Naoya. Seichii, who had tumbled out of Tokio's lap, awakened on all fours.   
  
"Tokio-san?" he asked confusedly, blinking at the ground. Finally becoming aware of his surroundings, he turned his head to one side to find the garden's four other occupants staring at him. He smiled minutely as he said, "S...Saitou-san. You're..."  
  
Okita Seichii's attempted smile fell from his face. As he stood, Saitou pulled the cord on the package in his hand, letting the fabric that had encased the object flutter away with the springtime breeze. What remained was a nihonto in its sheath. Saitou tossed the katana at Seichii, and it landed in front of the crouched poet with a clank.  
  
"For your brother's sake, I'll allow you to duel me with his sword. Since you lack any semblance of honor or virtue, perhaps he'll allow you to borrow some of his."  
  
"A duel?" Naoya asked, "Why does Fujita-san want to duel with Okita-san?"  
  
Tokio didn't answer. All of her strength she put into finding her feet and becoming upright. One of her geta having fallen off when her husband had dragged her, she stumbled unevenly towards him. "Hajime...why? Why are you...doing this?"  
  
"Stay back, Tokio. This man is not who he seems. He is a snake who has coiled around our lives so slowly we didn't notice the danger."  
  
"And who are you?" Tokio replied, sinking back onto her knees. He had been drinking, hadn't he? It was that exact same look, the look of a wild beast unleashed, gnashing his teeth at any who might draw near. "My husband is a sane and rational man. You are not him."  
  
As if in slow motion, Okita Seichii grabbed the sheathed katana and used it to help himself stand. He held the nihonto horizontally by both hands in front of his waist. Peering at the object in his hands with tangible despondency he murmured, "My...my brother's sword? I'm afraid that some great misunderstanding has passed between us, Saitou-san. I have no wish to fight you."  
  
"I do not care what you wish. I have given you the tool to defend yourself. If you will not, then I will strike you down nonetheless." With this declaration, the Wolf of Mibu's shoulders rounded as his right foot slid backwards.   
  
"No," Kozue gasped under his breath. "Sensei, no."  
  
Naoya looked around, utterly confused. "Would someone please tell me what in the fucking hell is going on here?"  
  
As a sudden wind shook a rain of blossoms from the tree, Saitou charged, his battlecry more heart-wrenchingly pained than any sound Tokio had ever heard her husband utter. Tokio's hand flew to her throat as her eyes squeezed shut. No. No. No.   
  
Naoya watched as a blur passed in front of Saitou, a blur that forcefully knocked Okita Seichii out of the way. When all motion came to a halt, Narajirou Kozue's shoulder had been pinned to the tree by Saitou's katana. In his left hand he held the half of his bokken that had not been sheared off in deflecting the blow.  
  
"What do you think you are doing, Kozue?" Saitou asked, swiftly withdrawing his katana from the other man's body. Kozue slid down the tree, leaving a path of blood on the bark. Clutching his wound, Kozue grimaced, his usual simple air dissolving in the heat of his battle ki. "I can't let you do this, sensei. Whatever wrong you perceive this man has done, killing him is not the answer, not in this Meiji era. Jail him...if you must seek justice. But, I beseech you...do not let the eyes of these women fall upon the horror of death."  
  
"Naruhodo. You are a fool, Kozue. Your talents were always impressive. But, I find it vaguely amusing that a man who has never killed, yet claims the profession of a teacher of sword arts, seeks to lecture me on the code of justice. Be thankful that your eternal innocence obscures your mind from realizing its own hypocrisy."  
  
"I will...protect. I won't let you...he isn't a swordsman..." Kozue pushed his uninjured arm against the tree, attempting to stand. Blood welled up beneath the fabric of his gi creating a dark patch at his shoulder.   
  
"Hn," Saitou grunted. "Indeed, I bet you would try. Even injured, lacking a weapon, and shamefully outclassed. Unfortunately, I can't have you getting in the way." One powerful punch to the stomach was all it took. Kozue collapsed in a pile at the root of the tree.   
  
"Hajime!" Tokio rasped. "Please stop this. You've hurt Kozue, and you will certainly hurt Seichii if you fight him."  
  
Saitou turned towards Seichii, who had, to Saitou's great surprise, not fled. "That would be the point, wife."  
  
Seichii took a deep breath of air and closed his eyes for a moment. His face becoming slack, he exhaled smoothly and re-opened eyes which shone with immaculate clarity. "Alright Saitou-san. I see. I understand now. I will fight you."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Where is he? It isn't like Okita to be late," Nagakura commented, sitting down on the front steps of Shinsengumi headquarters. "I thought we were going to spar."  
  
"Hn," replied Saitou Hajime, Captain of the Third Company, "I assure you, Nagakura, you need to spar with him far more than he needs to spar with you."  
  
Through the rain, both men watched the gate in silence. It really -wasn't- like Okita to be late. A failure to be prompt could only mean one thing: trouble. Not that either of the two men doubted Okita's prowess, but one man could still be overwhelmed if attacked en masse. Besides, the Hitokiri Battousai had been more prolific of late, killing with a renewed passion that startled even the Shinsengumi.  
  
Finally, a figure appeared at the gate. The frame of Okita Souji seemed even smaller in his civilian clothing. Drenched in mud, Okita lumbered towards the steps, looked not at all like himself. His hair lay plastered to his forehead and cheeks, and rivers of water dripped down his face and leapt from his chin.  
  
"Okita," Saitou said, stepping off the porch into the rain, "Has there been a battle?"  
  
"A...." Okita looked up from the ground, his eyes filled with confusion. "Yes. A battle." Stepping out of the rain, Okita's personable smile finally made its way to his face. "I'm afraid I won't be able to spar with you today, gentlemen."  
  
"Eh. That's alright, Okita," Nagakura replied, hopping up. "I'll just have to find one of my men and give him a little extra training."  
  
"Saitou-san, would you mind accompanying me upstairs?" Okita asked, wringing some of the rainwater out of his rust-colored gi. "I have something about which I would like to speak to you."  
  
Sensing some bizarre mood in the younger Captain, Saitou replied, "Aa."  
  
The rooms of the Shinsengumi Captains all lined one hallway situated above a more massive complex of barracks that had been built for each company's men. Okita Souji's quarters, as stark as any other, had two distinctions that always intrigued Saitou. First, the man kept goldfish, three to be exact. Each swam endlessly in its glass bowl, and gossip among the men said that Okita had named them "Loyalty", "Duty", and "Honor". But, no one really ever had the guts to ask.   
  
The second strange thing about Okita's quarters had to be the permeating fragrance of oranges, no matter the season. This, too, created a mystery that could not be solved. Many a man, upon leaving a conference with the Captain of the First Company, would head into the kitchen and ask for an orange, only to be told that oranges were out of season, and would not be available for a good half year.  
  
Saitou shut the shoji behind him as Okita untied his soaked gi and began a rather arduous search for a dry one. As he did so, he asked, "Have you ever given a thought, Saitou-kun, to what you would do if order had been restored to this city and the Shinsengumi were deemed no longer necessary?"  
  
"No," Saitou replied truthfully, "Making plans for the future seems a frivolous task, one too distracting to be of use." He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, as he watched Okita re-dress. "Have you made plans for the future, Okita?"  
  
Instead of answering the question, Okita walked to the shelf with the three fish bowls, staring at them thoughtfully as he pressed a finger to his lips. "Have I ever told you about my goldfish, Saitou-kun? I bought them right after we first came to Kyoto, after the first time I saw a man killed. I had decided then that I should at least try to keep something alive, to remind me that I must look to the future, to a time beyond war. After buying them in a shop in the marketplace, I was so excited, I even named the fish right on that spot. Then, I headed back here, the three bowls delicately balanced in my hands. However, on the way, I passed a woman being assaulted by some men."  
  
Okita opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a decorative pot. Unscrewing the lid, he pinched a tiny bit of the fish food and dropped it into the first bowl. "Immediately, of course, I forgot about the fish, and dropped the bowls into the snow. I slew the men, just as I had been trained, but by the time I was finished, the woman was nowhere to be found. She had fled."  
  
"I've heard that men will do all sorts of crazy things the first time they kill another man. Cry. Scream. Vomit. Try to kill themselves. But, all I wanted to do was to make sure my fish were alright. So, I trudged back to where I had dropped them. Miraculously, two of the bowls had landed upright in the snow. Inside, the rapidly chilling water had caused them to become immobile, but I could tell they were still alive. Yet, the last one, the last bowl, had overturned. A tiny fish corpse lay in the snow, already becoming grey with the pallor of death. Suddenly, I was stricken. It seemed like an omen, and though I am not a man to believe much in omens, it ate at me for some time."  
  
"You see, the fish, to me, were a symbol of the future. If I could be a Shinsengumi Captain, a ferocious Wolf of Mibu, and still be a gentle enough man to care for goldfish in my spare time, then certainly all would be well in my future. I would not lose myself to some irrational madness of violence. But, I had not been able to save all the fish. So what could it mean?"  
  
Saitou quirked one eyebrow and shifted his weight, waiting for the resolution of Okita's tale.  
  
"Should I give up my plans for the future, just because one fish died? Should I condemn the other two fish to such hopelessness? In the end I decided that I could not. Even if a man knows he will not survive, if he knows that he will be lost to madness, to disease, or to the sword, he can not give up his beliefs and dreams. The day always comes, in the end, when we breathe our last. And no matter what we lose before that time, we must, each and every one of us, find something to which we can cling. We must find something in the core of our being which allows us to cast aside doubt and look towards a brighter future, no matter how impossible."  
  
"Hn," Saitou grunted, not completely understanding his friend's story. "But, you have three fish now."  
  
"Yes. I replaced the dead fish," Okita chuckled, returning the fish food to the cabinet. "It would look silly with only two, I think. Anyway, Saitou-kun, perhaps you should get some fish. Quite a calming hobby."  
  
"I think I'll stick to the calming effects of kata," Saitou replied.  
  
"Indeed. Kata is also good," Okita agreed with a smile, "Well, lets go find our own food, hm?"  
  
"Aa." As Saitou stepped away from the wall, he remembered what he was going to ask. "Okita, who did you fight tonight, anyway?"  
  
"A dead man, Saitou-kun. I had a struggle with a dead man." A mysterious smile crossed Okita's lips as he continued. "I have one or two more things to do here. Why don't I meet you downstairs?"  
  
Shrugging, Saitou turned and headed out the door. Okita certainly had been in a strange mood lately. But, it hadn't effected his swordsmanship any. To the contrary, he'd become even more efficient, more precise. Sometimes Saitou had to wonder if the other man was even human.  
  
Back in his room, Okita Souji dropped to his knees and covered his mouth, coughing violently. As drops of blood ran between his fingers, he closed his eyes.   
  
A dead man. Every single day was a struggle with a dead man.  
  
Opening his eyes, Souji peered up at his fish. Swimming around blissfully in their bowls were Saitou and Souji, and the replacement for the fish that had died in the snow.  
  
Seichii.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Seichii pulled the long nihonto from the sheath as Saitou moved away from the tree. The poet seemed mesmerized for a moment by the gleam of the sword's metal which reflected into his sorrowful eyes.  
  
As Naoya and Tokio made their way to the tree where Kozue lay, Seichii affected a stance. His body turned to the side and feet slightly apart, only his head remained facing Saitou. Unlike the gatotsu, where the flat of the blade lay parallel to the ground, Seichii held his nihonto's edge perpendicular. He outstretched his left arm and, extending two fingers, placed them underneath the long katana, settling the dull edge of the blade into their groove.  
  
"Yare, yare. You imitate your brother's stance quite well. But then, I've already discovered what a convincing actor you can be." Saitou, too, settled into his stance. "But trying the moves of the Tennen Rishin Ryu without training will likely cause you to cut off your own fingers."  
  
"Before we fight, Saitou-san, I'd like to know what your reasons are for striking me down."  
  
Saitou's shoulder drew backwards smoothly as his fingers slid down the length of his katana. "I know all about Kanryuu. About the Gattling gun. About how you pulled my sister into your world of corruption and tried to use myself and my family to further your twisted intentions. I see all your lies now."  
  
"You are right, Saitou-kun. There have been too many lies, too many secrets," Seichii replied, the breeze softly rippling the sleeves of his olive gi, "But you are wrong about many things. Foremost among them: this is not my brother's sword."  
  
As Seichii ran at Saitou, the wind in the gardens became ferocious, A blizzard of varied blossoms shook themselves from the trees, whipping around violently. As one blossom speared itself on the tip of Seichii's sword, Saitou pulled himself out of his gatotsu stance. Not being given the chance to use his famous offense, he'd have to defend against whatever this pathetic poet had to offer.   
  
As the two men collided, Seichii proceeded with a quick thrust towards Saitou's neck which Hajime assumed was some sort of misstep. Parrying Seichii's stab with a slash to the side, the two men's swords pushed against one another. Saitou's eyes grew wide as he realized that Seichii's power met his own.   
  
This was no poet.  
  
Seichii jumped backwards, landing slightly out of the reach of Saitou's katana. "As I said, this is not my brother's sword. It is mine."  
  
Saitou felt a trickle of liquid on his neck. After reaching one gloved hand to the sensation and pulling it away, he stared at his fingers. The pristine white tips of his gloves were marred with a few drops of blood and a tiny flower petal with a hole in the middle.  
  
"I am Okita Souji."  
  
Tokio and Naoya, who had made their way to the tree where Kozue lay wounded, both looked up from their task of tending to his injury.   
  
Hajime, on the other hand, narrowed his yellow eyes as his lips fell from a sneer to a frown. "Okita Souji is dead."  
  
As Okita picked up the sheath from the ground he said softly, "In a way, Saitou-kun, you're right. Please. Let me explain"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Most of the story I told you was true. I did have a twin brother Seichii, and we were as close as I described. He was sickly, and did get well after I left for Kyoto. After I became ill, he did even stand in for me in the Shinsengumi when Kondou-san forced me to go on retreat to the hot springs.  
  
But, he was no swordsman. No, he was a visionary, a thinker, a brilliant man trapped for most of his life in a body that could barely continue to function from day to day. When I saw him, when he was well, I can not tell you how thrilled I was. Seeing Seichii healthy placed a certain strength into my soul. Every time I fought, no matter the pain within my own dying body, I clung to the thought that if only I could survive, if only for just a little while longer, I could be reunited with my brother. Even if I could see him just for a short time before I finally died, just long enough to see our dream of opening a school dedicated to all of our lofty ideals begun.   
  
After the war, I returned home, and then something surprising happened. Something I deemed miraculous. I didn't know if it was the air in Mibu, or just that I wasn't putting as much stress on my body anymore, but I began to feel better. My parents were so excited, so happy, and of course, Seichii was too. Those were the best days. Seichii and I drew up plans for our school. We would walk in the evenings, something our respective illnesses had never let us do before.   
  
But then, I began to notice that every day Seichii would want to turn back from our walks after less and less travel. At first, I paid no heed. I didn't want to think anything was wrong. One day, I pushed him. I really wanted to see the lake, as we had just heard it had finally frozen over for the winter.   
  
Seichii grew quieter and quieter as we walked, his eyes seeming more and more hollow. I thought perhaps that Seichii was merely in deep thought. But then, only a few yards from the lake, Seichii fell to his knees and began to cough.  
  
I knew that cough. I was familiar with the raw burning it produced in your lungs, the difficult breathing, the taste of blood at the back of your tongue.   
  
"Seichii, gods Seichii, no. Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, dropping into the snow beside him.  
  
"I didn't want you to...be sad, Souji," he replied.   
  
All I could think of were my goldfish. My damn goldfish that I used to keep when I was a Captain of the Shinsengumi. All I could think of was the goldfish that died in the snow.  
  
I scooped Seichii up and brought him home. After that, I made immediate plans to get him into the best hospital in Edo. Some of the doctors there, I knew, used to be sympathetic to the Shinsengumi when they worked in Kyoto. So, I registered my brother under my own name in the hopes that he would get better treatment.  
  
But, I knew Seichii would refuse to go unless I went with him. He believed that if we were apart, I would get ill again, and he would get better. So, I went to Edo with my brother.  
  
The hospital made him as comfortable as they could, I think. I spent as much time as I could just sitting by his side, just as I had done when we were young. Above all, I didn't want him to die alone. I knew how scared he was of dying alone.   
  
We spent a lot of time talking about the future. One snowy day, when Seichii seemed to have very little strength left, I told him about my goldfish. About how they had helped me live every day as a Shinsengumi Captain. He adored the story, so much so that he immediately asked me to go out and buy him some goldfish.  
  
How could I refuse such a simple request from my brother? I picked up my katana and wakizashi and began to loop them through my hakama when Seichii said, "Souji, just this once, why not walk through this new Meiji era as a peaceful man? Your side may not have won the war, but that doesn't mean you must shun any good that comes of it."  
  
So I left my sword, this sword, with my brother...and I went out in search of goldfish.  
  
You, of all people, should know what happened while I was gone. You arrived, and after some time, my brother committed seppuku, allowing you to believe he was me.   
  
Okita Seichii killed the swordsman known as Okita Souji.   
  
Why? Maybe he wanted me to live my life as a peaceful man, to put down the sword. Maybe he just wanted to provide me with an escape from the enemies of my past, men who would eventually seek retribution for my actions as an upstanding member of the Shinsengumi.  
  
Maybe, but no.   
  
The time of Okita Souji had come to an end. From then on, I was to be Okita Seichii. I was to walk the path my brother would have chosen for himself, if only his body had been strong enough to do so. It was the only thing I could do, to honor my brother, to keep some part of our future alive.  
  
After I found the goldfish, I raced back to the hospital, overjoyed to have done something that would put a smile on Seichii's face. But, when I came to the bridge over the river by the hospital, I saw you, Saitou Hajime, walking away from the front door of the building. Walking away carrying my swords.  
  
I gasped, and in my surprise, tripped on one of the planks in the bridge. And wouldn't you know it? Even though I was able to save two of the fishbowls from turning over, the third one got away from me.  
  
The spilled water from the third bowl leaked over the side of the bridge. The goldfish inside fell into the water below...and swam away.  
  
Of course, there is no need to even describe the state I found myself in after my I found out that my brother had died. I've lost much of my memory from that time. I can only say that I've never known a pain its equal. Neither sword wound nor illness could ever compare.   
  
And I had no idea how to put down the sword and become a poet. What did I know of grand words and subtle expressions? Sure, I'd been able to inspire my men into battle, but this was a different thing altogether.   
  
I found myself taking a job as a bodyguard at a brothel. The women there were extremely kind, and seemed to intuitively understand my sadness. To a one, they had all been through their own hardships. Most of them had lost family, husbands, brothers, fathers, in the war.   
  
And it was there that I met Yamaguchi Katsu.  
  
I kept seeing her out of the corner of my eye. Something pulled my gaze towards her. I could have sworn that I knew her, that I had seen her face somewhere before, but I just couldn't place it. And I couldn't bring myself to ask her about her past for fear she might ask me about my own. Besides, a brothel isn't really the right place for inquiring about such things.  
  
But, Katsu being Katsu, she approached me. She sidled up to me one evening, that cigarette holder of hers between her fingers, and said:  
  
"I assume you know my brother, Saitou Hajime, then."  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
Katsu had come to Kyoto after being forced to leave your hometown. She had meant to set herself up as a writer, but times being such as they were, she had been forced to find money any way she could. And that meant seeking refuge in the last resort of all women, a brothel.   
  
One night, she'd been assaulted by some men on the street who wanted to take advantage of her services without her permission. She'd thought all was lost, but then she saw a young man carrying three fishbowls dressed in Shinsengumi uniform at the end of the alleyway.  
  
Me.  
  
The first men I ever killed, I had unknowingly killed in defense of Katsu Yamaguchi.   
  
But, realizing who I was, Katsu had fled. She had somehow found out while in Kyoto that her brother had joined the Shinsengumi. And, she absolutely couldn't have me bring her back to the station to be questioned. It meant that she would chance running into you, chance her younger brother finding out what she had become.  
  
Had fortune smiled upon me? Were the fates trying to tell me something? Saitou Hajime had been there for my brother when he died. Could I somehow begin repay him by helping his sister?   
  
I struck up a deal with Katsu. I would get her out of the brothel and help her set herself up as an authoress, but in return she would tutor me. I needed to become a poet.  
  
Together, we traveled to Tokyo. Money, however, was tight, and we had to live hand to mouth for quite some time. I began to doubt that I had done the right thing, for myself, for Katsu. I had to do something, and fast, or we would both die of starvation.  
  
So, under a false name, I wrote a booklet detailing the inner workings and tactics of the Shinsengumi, including details on how we won many of our battles. This booklet I sold to the Meiji government in the hopes that they could use our hard won knowledge to help keep peace in the new era.   
  
One week later, a carriage pulled up in front of the longhouse where Katsu and I had been staying. Out stepped famed Okubo Toshimichi, the director of the Department of Internal Affairs.  
  
The booklet I had written had somehow gotten to his desk. He had been suspicious of the unknown author who had detailed so intimately the inner workings of the Shinsengumi. So, he had the handwriting compared to samples brought from the old Shinsengumi headquarters. And that is how he discovered who I was.  
  
I'm not certain why he came. Perhaps he wanted to assure himself that Okita Souji would be no threat to the people of Tokyo or the government of Japan. Maybe he wanted me to use my sword in defense of this new era, instead of by the code of Aku Soku Zan.   
  
But, after hearing our stories, Okubo-kyo said: "Okita-san, I have read the booklet you have written, and studied many documents penned by you during your time in the Shinsengumi. Just as you helped pick the strongest and most worthy men for the Shinsengumi, I need you once again to be the judge of men's hearts and minds. If this Meiji era is to survive, we need men of intellect, men of great vision, men who draw this country from the soil and help it blossom. We need the most progressive scientists, visionary poets and artists, the best doctors, and incorruptable politicians."  
  
Okubo-kyo helped set Katsu and I up in this house. In return for his financial assistance, Katsu and I scour not only Japan, but the world beyond, looking for those bright men and women who can help bring about Okubo-kyo's vision for our country. Katsu-san being an author, and I being a poet and speech writer, we were able to travel easily among the intellectual circles and find such people.  
  
At times, I also provide council to Okubo-kyo on military tactics, but he understands that I will not swing a sword for the Meiji government. The swordsman in me belongs only to the Shinsengumi. It is not Okita Souji who assists Okubo-kyo, it is Okita Seichii.  
  
When you came to Tokyo, Saitou-kun, it was Okubo-kyo who passed that news to me, and I told Katsu. That is how she knew how to find you.   
  
But, we were both afraid, afraid of you finding out the past. Katsu didn't want you to know about what happened to her. She thought you would be ashamed that she had been in a brothel. And I, I just didn't know what you would think of me if you found out that not only had I not died all those years ago, but that I worked to assist the Meiji government to become stronger. So I kept up the illusion that I had for many years.   
  
I wanted to show you, to let you know that Katsu was alright, to have you see how well we had both done. And I wanted to thank you, for being there...for Seichii."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou had long since sheathed his sword. He stood now, arms crossed, a cigarette between two gloved fingers. But the bestial expression with which he had entered the garden had fallen away, to be replaced with a terse visage of discountenance. "And Kanryuu?" he asked, ashing the cigarette into the breeze.  
  
"Kanryuu was an accident," Okita replied, "I met him at a social gathering where Katsu and I were looking for inventors. Later he revealed to me that he was to come into possession of a Gattling gun. After discussing this with Okubo-kyo, we decided that under no circumstances could we allow black market sales of such equipment to continue. I pretended to be an arms dealer in an attempt to find out Kanryuu's sources. But, now that he has been arrested, those sources are likely already alerted to the danger. I can only hope we've frightened them out of Japan for the time being."  
  
"Naruhodo." Saitou turned his head to look at his wife. She had Kozue now, laying on her lap, while she tended to his wounds. That was it, wasn't it? It was the sadness of loss which bound Tokio and Okita together, which fortified their friendship. The loss of Tokio's parents, and the loss of Okita's brother. Somehow, Tokio could sense the sadness behind the other man's smile. Whereas Saitou had the ability to read a person's motivations, it was Tokio who could sense their gloom.  
  
She was just his friend, and that was all.  
  
"Well, are we all going to just stand here? We gotta get Kozue inside, and I ain't fucking carrying him," Naoya announced, breaking the tension.  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, "Lets get that damn idiot inside."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio trailed behind her husband, one hand lifting the skirt of her tomesode slightly to keep it incurring the wrath of the small puddles of mud in the cemetery. Her other hand held her basket, in which a bouquet of fresh purple flowers could be seen.  
  
Hajime walked along briskly, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. They hadn't spoken much to each other since the incident in the garden two days previous, but he had returned home, at least. This morning, when her husband had suddenly announced that they were going to visit Katsu, she'd taken it as a good sign. Things were beginning to return to normal.  
  
Saitou stopped suddenly and turned to his wife. Without a word, he bent and crooked his arms around her knees and behind her back, lifting her over the large puddle in the path. Tokio shuddered at the sensation of his touch. Two weeks had been longer than she realized.   
  
He placed her back on the path just as wordlessly, and they continued their search for Katsu's stone. They found it minutes later, a small black obelisk bearing the name Yamaguchi Katsu.   
  
Saitou dug his heels into the ground a bit as Tokio stepped forward and arranged the flowers in front of the stone. After pressing her hands together and saying a short, silent prayer for the older woman, Tokio added mentally, "I've brought Hajime, Katsu-san. Please don't be angry with him. I'm certain that he misses you more than he will tell anyone, even himself."  
  
Tokio backed away from the stone and stood beside her husband.  
  
"Are you angry with me, Tokio?" Hajime asked, his gaze on his sister's tombstone not wavering.  
  
"No, Hajime, not anymore." Tokio reached out and curled her hand around one of her husband's gloved fingers. "Katsu-san was a good woman, ne?"  
  
"Aa, she was." Nodding slightly to the stone he added, "Goodbye, my sister, you old wolf."  
  
As they walked home, Tokio could smell the post-rain freshness of the springtime air. Kume and Fujiko would return tomorrow morning, and their friends would leave the day after that for their home in Osaka. Perhaps this is how the world always was, a blur of people entering and leaving your life, new friends and old friends coming and going as quickly as the seasons.   
  
But, at least no matter how many times he left, Hajime would always return to her. She had to have faith in that, to cling to it in the core of her being, or be lost to despondency.  
  
"Hajime?" Tokio asked quietly.  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"If you drink again, I will poison your soba."  
  
The only reply was a deep chuckle.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Fujita-sensei, uh, where are we going?" Kozue asked, motioning with his hands until he realized, for the tenth time that say, that doing so hurt his injured arm.  
  
Refusing to answer the other man, Saitou continued across the bridge to the marketplace. Kozue merely shook his head and picked up his pace to catch up with the other man. At Kozue's side hung a bokken, one that due to his injury he couldn't currently use, but with which he would refuse to part. Fujita-sensei had handed it to him earlier in the morning, saying only:  
  
"I used this one when I taught in Osaka. It will be a suitable replacement."  
  
They had left after a light breakfast, Kume and Tokio being content to stay home and play with Fujiko.   
  
Finally, the two men reached what Kozue assumed was their destination, since the other man came to a stop in front of a small storefront.   
  
"Stay here," Kozue's mentor said, as he stepped into the store. He returned minutes later holding three glass containers with goldfish swimming inside.  
  
"Uh...goldfish...Fujita-sensei?" Kozue asked. Having been passed out during the entire interlude between Saitou and Okita, the sentiment eluded him. "Do you...uh...want help carrying those?"  
  
The Wolf of Mibu rolled his eyes as he started off down the road towards the part of the city where his sister's house stood. Kozue carry the bowls? His accident-prone student with the injured arm?  
  
You had to be kidding.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: The ultimate evil draws near in the form of one man's quest...for Kuni Tori. A very interesting person is sent to give the Saitous a message. And our favorite ex-Shinsengumi captain is forced to make some hard decisions.   
  
***Author Notes: This chapter is depressing. However, please reserve all death threats to the end of the tale. I assure you, you'll want to kill me far more by that time, if I haven't already scared you off with this chapter. :(  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Yamaguchi Hiraki: His name, according to my research is actually Hiroaki, but I changed it so that he wouldn't be confused with Saitou's friend Hiro from the earlier chapters. We already have too many similar names in this story. Kanryuu and Kanryuusai (the former being Watsuki's basis for the characterization of the latter, I believe), Souji and Soujiro (partially the same), and of course, the female Katsu of this story and the male Katsu who is Sanosuke's friend from several of the anime episodes.  
  
Mr. Hiroaki did work for the Finance Department during this time period. I have no other information on him. I doubt he will be reappearing in this story very much, if at all.  
  
Okubo Toshimichi: This of course, the same man who stops the fight between Kenshin and Saitou, charges Kenshin with killing Shishio, and is later killed by Soujiro.  
  
Meshibe Naoya: I think Naoya did a lot of growing in this chapter. During calm times, she tries, I think, very hard to appear "ladylike" now, but in times of stress she reverts to her old self.  
  
Narajirou Kozue: In my mind, Kozue is like the ideal that Kenshin tries to express in his rurouni life, but without the terrible hitokiri past. In a way, this ends up making him somewhat of a two-dimensional character, as he doesn't carry the sadness of the others. On the other hand, not everyone can be filled with angst all the time.  
  
Narajirou Kume: Muahahahahahaha. *holds sides* Muahahahahaha. Hell is being trapped in a room with Kume for all eternity.  
  
Yamaguchi Katsu: What can I say? I feel bad about killing her off, since she is such a perfect mirror for her brother. I wanted to, for just a while at least, have a character who brings to light the growing "feminist" movements of that era. I know that around this time, the suffrage movement was gaining headway in the U.S., but I am not exactly certain that it had an equal in Japan. I wrote one anyway, damn history.  
  
Okita Seichii / Okita Souji: Alright, some of you wrote in your reviews that you figured it out in the last chapter. Not sneaky enough, me. Though, spearing Ienobu through the neck should have been the first huge clue. Smaller clues can be found even all the way back to the introduction of the character. For instance, right after Seichii told the story of his brother's death (the first time) Katsu remarks: "I can't believe you bought that story, Tokio. I've written fiction novels that contain less fantasy." And then, when Saitou declares that the story must be true, Katsu mocks his sense of perception. Other clues, are, of course, scattered throughout the past three chapters.  
  
And, of course, in the first chapter. The last words that Okita Seichii says to Saitou Hajime before he kills himself...well, they rhyme (approximately). "The Wolves of Mibu must, to the last man, fight with the fury of Aku Soku Zan." How like a poet, ne?  
  
Oh, in addition, I found this great picture of Okita on the net which makes him look a bit older than the anime and OVAs portray. I thought I would share it with you, as it is what I am basing my descriptions of him on. You can find it, and other pilfered pictures at: http://www.io.com/~mindglue/fanfic/  
  
Snowflake: Snowflake, while not appearing in this chapter, is still fat.  
  
Saitou Tokio: She should poison his soba, anyway. And after he -said- he wouldn't drink, too. Tsk, tsk.  
  
Saitou Hajime: It was exceedingly hard to write what Saitou would do when his sister died. They had such a bizarre relationship. On one hand, they never seemed to get along, and at the point where she dies, they'd just argued. On the other, I think they had a lot of respect for one another. And, then, you have to add in the fact that he -did- kill Fusada Atsuji to protect her honor. Conflicting. So much internal conflict. I think the man internalized anything he could or would have felt over Katsu's death and channeled into his work, which isn't an altogether uncommon reaction. And when he found the document with Okita's name on it, he let that emotion come roaring out as the rage the he tries so hard to temper with his idealism. The only times, so far, that Saitou actually get -angry- are when he isn't in control of a situation (or is deprived of cigarettes). So, I hope that explains my reasoning behind things slightly.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
There is actually an on-purpose error in this chapter. Sanosuke actually isn't in the street in the anime when the Kenshin-gumi encounters the sumo wrestlers. But, I had to place him there so Kume could make fun of his hair.  
  
Another not-on-purpose error is the timing of events. My brain mistakenly told me that Kenshin had been in Tokyo a little over a year before he left to go to Kyoto. But, rewatching those episodes, I found out he had been there a little -under- a year. So, in this story he ends up being in town a little longer than he is supposed to be, which will require a time jump in the next chapter to make things line up properly. My apologies!  
  
There was also a scene that I cut where Okita was flying a kite with some children in the middle of the Bakumatsu. While the idea appeals to me, in the end it turned out to be too ridiculous and -too- childlike. So, I went with the goldfish instead. I think that worked out ok.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to anyone who has gotten this far in the story without becoming horrendously bored. I know I have a tendency to ramble on and beat around the point sometimes. Thanks again for all your wonderful support. So, special thanks to: Kochou570, kakashi-fan (whenever I can, but usually on the weekends), LSR-7, JadeGoddess, akuma no yoru (tsk tsk. EVIL THOUGHTS, YOU!), me and only me, AiteanE (sorry for keeping you up late), and Charmed-Anime.  
  
Kaholione: Ah. The ring in the catfish. That is one of the anime filler episodes in the post-Kyoto arcs. I don't think it has representation in the manga, but I don't know, since I am still reading translations. In short, Kenshin finds a ring inside a catfish and tricked by Tae into giving it to Kaoru.  
  
Two Hydrogens: Man, when you are right, you are right. Everything does go downhill in the anime after they leave Kyoto. But, I have to express a secret love for some of the cheesier filler episodes. Yes. I did like "The Birth of Prince Yahiko" and "To My Angel Misao". The shame of it all. *melodramatic tears* But the "Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu Steak Style" scene made me laugh my head off.   
  
fujifunmum: Yeah. That flashback was supposed to be all of about 2 paragraphs long and then immediately segue into Tokio waking up. So longwinded, me. I think you're going to be disappointed about the other thing, too. After Kyoto. *hides*  
  
tesuka- chan: Hentai? *chuckle* Well, I hoped you liked the slight sprinkle of jealousy in this chapter. I think the man was -dying- with jealousy all along, but just wouldn't admit it to anyone, most of all himself. As for Tokio, she's not in the anime at all. She's not anywhere except referenced once during the trip to Kyoto. But she -is- in history. I wish I could find more documents on what she was really like, but...alas, I am too stupid to comprehend the Japanese language.  
  
Cat, Avatar for the DCG: You're absolutely right about that. I meant it more as a reference to the "evil" of the Ishin Shishi in general, but he does also reference Himura, so that will, in the end, have to be re-written. On the other hand, I do think he has to have some feeling towards the Battousai besides "he was an honorable man". Unlike Aoshi, Saitou doesn't fight just to prove himself stronger than someone else. I think this is proven by the line in the manga after the Enishi affair when Saitou refuses to finish the duel with Kenshin by saying: If you don't understand, it's better that way. Even if I established a settlement with a hitokiri who doesn't kill anymore, by now there are already no more strong feelings, nor is there anything to get worked up about. That's all there is to it. So, in the end, not evil, but also...still some strong feelings, especially at this early point. Funny, though, that we both use the same website for translations!  
  
Animyth: Aaaarrrrr. You figured it out. I have to be more sneaky next time. Good luck on your school projects!  
  
jramx2: Why didn't Katsu come by with the books? Thats a good damn question. I wish I knew. *scratches head* I thought the line about Fusaka Atsuji not being a man was the best put down I've come up with yet. Yeah, I will say it, I'm proud of that one. :D Chuckle. Well, thanks for reading!  
  
Cherry Delight: *hides* I know, I know, I broke Seichii. Please forgive me! Not a lot of The Love or funny lines in this chapter. Just a lot of depressing blar blar blar. I have no idea where the kitchen scene came from...I certainly hadn't planned it. I hope you enjoyed the bit of making fun of the Kenshingumi, even if it is Kume who does most of the making-fun.   
  
At any rate, I have a brief interlude of off-story comic non-hilarity which I will be posting as an "Intermission" to this story in a few days, just for making you suffer the extra wait for this long chapter. It contains: "Showdown between Kenshingumi and Saitougumi", "RK Theater Presents: Star Wars", "Time In Hell With Narajirou Kume" and "Random Scenes". I'm not certain the skits are actually funny, but they may at least cause you to forget to pelt me with sharp things due to this chapter.  
  
***Note Notes: ARGH.  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Imoto - Younger sister  
  
Onesan - Elder sister  
  
Tennen Rishin Ryu - Okita Souji's school of swordsmanship. Also, I should mention that I read that he fought with a katana that was a few inches longer than normal, (43 instead of 41 inches?) but I have lost my sources for that, so don't take my word for it.  
  
Itai - "Ouch" or "It hurts".  
  
Kyo - The suffix used with Okubo's name. I'm not exactly certain of the translation, so if someone could provide one, that would be helpful! 


	11. Chapter 11: A Land Where Nothing Grows

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 11 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Mishima Eiji drove his small pickaxe into the hard clay ground. Nothing would grow, he knew. Nothing had grown this year, nor the year before. Still, what else could be done? The ground had to be tilled, it had always been tilled, it would always be tilled. Nothing ever changed except to get worse and worse.   
  
If only Eiichiro would return. He would know what to do. Maybe their family could leave. Maybe father could get work in Tokyo. No, no one really needed farmers in the middle of the big city, did they? But, surely there was something else. Surely there was a time when things weren't so bad. Eiji had trouble remembering, and that disturbed him even more. He had trouble remembering the time before Senkaku came to their town. Before....  
  
"Looks like hard work, eh kid?"  
  
Leaning on the handle of his hand plow, Eiji straightened his back and put his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the blazing afternoon light. His eyes traveled up the strange woman standing above him. Her hair, pulled to each side in two short outward swishes, bounced slightly as she took a step forward. Eiji squinted, taking in the woman's bizarre clothing with one sweeping gaze. She wore some foreign form of kimono, a deep bluegreen, with a yellow sash and dark purple obi. Thick twists of rope had been tied into a bow at her back.   
  
And she had a giant scythe propped up over one shoulder, its pole wrapped in a thick metal chain.  
  
"Who are you?" Eiji asked, the suspicion in his voice palpable, "You better get outta here. This village..."  
  
"Is this Shingetsu village?" the woman asked, cutting Eiji off.  
  
"Yeah. But..."  
  
"Then this is where I am supposed to be. Don't worry about it, kid." The woman giggled slightly as she knelt beside Eiji, running her fingers through the infertile soil. "Nothing is going to grow in this, you know."  
  
Eiji shifted his weight uncomfortably as his mind warned, 'I probably shouldn't be talking to this stranger. But, what should I do?'  
  
"So?" Eiji said, shrugging his shoulders, "Its gotta be tilled anyway. Sometimes you gotta do things, even if you know nothing will come of it."  
  
"Yeah. I know what you mean. That's what hope is all about, isn't it?" The woman sat down in the dirt, cross-legged, and placed her scythe across her lap. "I used to work on a farm just like this one, except way bigger, you know? Me and my ten older sisters."  
  
"Ten? Cripes." Eiji exclaimed, as he looked around to see if anyone was watching.   
  
"Yup. Ten. Such a long time ago." The woman sighed deeply and ran more of the freshly tilled dirt through her fingers. "There is nothing like plowing and planting. Watching something grow. Sometimes I think men enjoy it so much because they can't have children."  
  
"Uh?" Eiji found himself completely confused but shrugged it off. "I guess so."  
  
"Look, I tell you what, kid. How about I help you finish your work here, and you can act as my guide around the village?"  
  
"I don't know about that, lady. I could get in trouble," Eiji said, fingering his garden tool with definite uncertainty. "Why are you here, anyway?"  
  
"I'm here to see Shishio-san," she replied, a faraway look settling in her eyes.   
  
"Oh." The cutting curtness of the single syllable wasn't lost on the woman who looked up from her task of molesting the dirt to smile at the boy.   
  
"Eh, don't worry, kid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll even throw in some money for you. That'll be good, huh? Get your ma some nice gloves or your dad some good working boots, right?"  
  
"I guess. It's not like I can say no, anyway." Eiji said as he turned around, setting his sights on the rows left to be tilled. His father was off plowing the main fields, but this vegetable garden was his task. And, he would certainly hate to go home at the end of the day with so little of it done.   
  
As the woman stood, she said, "Best keep outta my way, kid. I'll knock this field out lickity-split."  
  
"Look lady, I have a name, you know. Its Eiji. Mishima Eiji."  
  
"Well, good to meet you Eiji. I'm Kamatari. And I assure you, I'm no lady."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Things had, seemingly, returned to normal for the Saitous. Seemingly. Every day, Hajime went to work early in the morning. Tokio and Naoya would leave for the market sometime after that, returning in the mid-afternoon to prepare for the next day. When he could, Okita would stop by and entertain the women with his delightful conversation. After Naoya left to return home to make dinner for her brother and mother, Okita would sometimes stay to dine with the Saitous.   
  
They would often speak of their days in the Shinsengumi, of battles won and battles lost, the men who had died and the men who still survived. Although her husband said nothing on the matter, Tokio believed that it strengthened him to know that another, not too dissimilar from himself, had adapted to the new age.   
  
Of course, one topic never came up during their conversations, not in front of Tokio, at least. The Hitokiri Battousai. Tokio found their deliberate avoidance of the subject disconcerting. Did they think her so frail as to not be able to stand to even hear the man's name?  
  
And perhaps she was, indeed, weak. What strength had she ever been able to show her husband? Getting kidnapped by Ienobu, trying to poison herself, being unable to bear him children, fainting in the marketplace, failing to stop her husband from hurting Kozue and dueling Okita...these were not the traits of a woman of strength, a woman of courage.   
  
No wonder her husband had hardly touched her in seven months.  
  
'What did I expect? If I were him, I would be repulsed, too. He probably isn't even thinking of such things, anyway. I am far too selfish in craving his attentions. How did I become such a needy, clingy woman? I detest such women. I detest myself. I will not stoop so low as to be one of those sorts of women. No. I shall not.'  
  
Nonetheless, to Tokio, the whole situation felt far too similar to the first time they had been married. Just as during that time, Hajime never shared her futon anymore, if he even slept, which was rare.   
  
'I will not beg,' Tokio thought, resolutely pressing her lips together as she walked towards the market. She'd given Naoya a few days off to visit with some distant relatives that had come to town, and had decided in the meantime to use the time to catch up on housework and shopping. 'I will not beg, nor even otherwise outwardly intimate that I feel something is missing, that I know something has changed. Am I angry? Only with myself, perhaps. I know I will never come first in his life. Never. I have accepted this. I have -always- accepted this.'  
  
Looking at her feet as she walked through the early autumn afternoon, Tokio's thoughts continued to assault her. 'This is the way of life. One can not expect to be happy. One should not wish to be made happy by others. Such thoughts are greedy and vile. For the happiness of one person most certainly diminishes the happiness of another.'  
  
'I will say -nothing-. Nothing to my friends, and most certainly nothing to my husband.'  
  
Before long, Tokio found herself at the door of the Akabeko. She stared up at the building's frame dumbly as other market goers shoved their way past. One man's shoulder barely brushed against Tokio's leaving in its wake a lingering scent of sage and cigarettes. Feeling her legs weaken at the hauntingly familiar aroma, Tokio bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mind from lingering on some wantonly frivolous desire.   
  
Straightening herself, Tokio entered the Akabeko.   
  
She needed something to make the needing go away.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujiro smiled. Soujiro smiled widely. And for good measure, Soujiro smiled just a little bit more.  
  
"Ah! Kata!" the impish young man exclaimed, completing one set and moving on to another. Nothing, really, better to do while Shishio-san and Yumi-san were in the next room, taking in the hot springs of Shingetsu. His katana flashed in the haze filled bars of midday sunlight that streamed into the room from the open windows lining one wall. Tapping one foot on the ground, his small body disappeared from sight, only to coalesce on the other side of the room in a crouched position. Soujiro flicked his head upwards, bouncing his short brown bangs out of his face.  
  
Across the room, in the doorway, a silhouetted figure clapped its hands. "Oh, Soujiro, that was wonderful. Breathtaking. If you weren't my adopted brother, I might just have to think some very naughty thoughts about you right now."  
  
"Kamatari," Soujiro acknowledged as he stood, sheathing his katana. "Have you been waiting long? Shishio-san wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."  
  
Kamatari stepped into the room, his scythe tucked into the crook of his arm. Two rectangular boxes of light illuminated the curves of his hips beneath the his long blue haori as he cooed, "When Shishio-san is involved, I just can't help but travel just a little bit faster."  
  
Soujiro nodded in response, his ever-present smile not wavering for even an instant, as he crossed the empty room and knocked at the back door. "Shishio-san? Shishio-san? Kamatari is here to see you."  
  
After a prolonged pause, the voice from within the room answered, "Ah. Give me ten minutes."  
  
"Certainly, Shishio-san," Soujiro chirped in reply, turning back towards Kamatari. "Shall we spar to pass the time, Kama-nesan?"  
  
"And meet Shishio-san all sweaty? No, no, Soujiro, I think I will pass." Instead, Kamatari reached into his obi and pulled out a small mirror, which he held up to the light and began to check his hair. Traveling could make one appear so disheveled. "How have things been, Soujiro? No trouble, I trust?"  
  
"Usui has gone and disappeared again," Soujiro replied, plopping himself down by the door cheerfully. Taking his tanto and a small whetstone from inside his gi, the smiling Tenken began the elaborate process of sharpening the blade. "And Yumi..."  
  
Kamatari hissed audibly at the mention of the name, "Nevermind. I don't want to hear about her. Things were so much better when it was just you, and I, and Shishio-san. Don't you agree, ototo?"  
  
Soujiro leaned his head against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes while still grinning, giving him a look of creepily happy nostalgia. "Hai. Those were fun times. But, we shall have fun again, Kama-nesan. Shishio-san has promised."  
  
"Mmmhm," Kamatari acknowledged in a lilting half-giggle.  
  
Inside, beyond the doors, the able fingers of Yumi of the Night wrapped bandages around the burned skin of her lord and master, Shishio Makoto. As the steam from the baths misted around them, Yumi looked up from her kneeling position and said, "I just don't understand why you need that queer little man, my beloved."  
  
"He has his talents," Shishio replied, red eyes liquidly turning to gaze down on the exposed nape bobbing slowly upwards as Yumi wrapped his midsection. Moving two burnt fingers to lift her chin, he continued, "Do you not trust that I have everything meticulously planned?"  
  
"No, of course I trust you, Shishio-sama, it is Kamatari that I do not trust."  
  
"I assure you, Kamatari is unable to betray my trust. Like Soujiro, he is my prodigy, and while his skills in battle do not match those of the Tenken, his desire to please me makes him formidable in any mission I might assign."  
  
As Yumi finished wrapping the burnt man, she turned to gather his deep blue robes from a nearby bench. "Shall I stay?"  
  
"No, go out the back and go to wait with Soujiro. I want Kamatari to see you as he leaves, not as he enters. If his last sight before leaving is your face, he'll be all the more motivated to accomplish his task."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"More sake, ma'am?"  
  
Tokio looked up from the table. Where was she again? Ah yes, that Akabeko place. She found herself face to face with a skittish young woman, whose shy smile seemed as cruel as icicles plunged into Tokio's heart. 'Was I not so very young, once, myself? So fresh and unused by the world? Did I ever smile with such carefree eyes? No. I suppose not.'  
  
"Yes, please," Tokio whispered, looking back down at the table. She rubbed the soft material of the end of her scarf absently, like a child might do to a favorite blanket. Sake. Yes. That blessed liquid which burned away pain. That forbidden vice which only barely surpassed in comfort what it cost in shame.   
  
Bending forward to look at the dim reflection in the shallow sake cup, Tokio wondered if this is what her husband saw. A broken woman. A weak woman. No one of import. No one of consequence.  
  
When had it all begun? Tokio closed her eyes and lifted the sake to her lips, drinking it quickly to avoid the strong taste. About seven months ago. Yes. A few days after they had visited Katsu's grave.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio was practicing her calligraphy. "A lady should have lovely writing," her mother had always said, "A woman's calligraphy can tell so much about who she is, be she mysterious or playful, charismatic or joyful." But, Tokio generally found her own writing to be particularly bland. 'It looks like nothing. Not perfectly precise like Hajime's, not artistic and stunning like Okita's, not atrociously haphazard like Naoya's. Just...lifeless.'  
  
It was a project she would occasionally pick up from time to time, and then give up again out of disgust or boredom. But, since she'd been slowly teaching Naoya to read and write, Tokio had gotten the idea to set herself to the task once again.  
  
Her husband had been sitting nearby, next to an open shoji, reading a newspaper and smoking. He'd occasionally grunt his disapproval at some article. Tokio had practically lost herself in her task when she heard her husband say, "Bring me more cigarettes, Tokio."  
  
Laying her brush aside, Tokio stood and went to the cabinet where Hajime kept his boxes of cigarettes. Actually, where -she- kept his boxes of cigarettes. Running out of such items could cause a family crisis greater than any Ienobu or Hitokiri Battousai, so Tokio made certain to keep that particular cabinet well stocked.  
  
"Here you are, Hajime," Tokio whispered, bending down to hand him the unopened pack. Amber eyes that had been scouring the newspaper flicked up and caught Tokio by surprise.   
  
He wanted more than cigarettes, did he?  
  
Tokio jumped backwards, barely avoiding her husband's swipe for her outstretched wrist. Biting her bottom lip to suppress a wide grin, Tokio backed away even further. She held up the cigarettes, tilting the box back and forth, taunting her husband.  
  
"You must be growing old, Hajime. That was far too slow."  
  
Saitou carefully folded his newspaper and placed it by the wall before standing. Too slow? Not quite, but she did look so irresistible when she thought she had gotten away with something. So, every now and then he had to at least let her -think- she was winning.   
  
"Are you going to deny me such simple requests, Kitty?" Saitou replied, putting one hand against the shoji behind him, pushing it closed with a short shove. "I didn't realize you were one of those sorts of wives."  
  
"What sort is that, Hajime?" she whispered, bracing her feet. If she could just determine how he would come at her, maybe she could dodge. By no means would he win this round. No, not after disappearing for two weeks without so much as a goodbye. 'I'll show you, Hajime!' Tokio thought, 'No one can tame the Wolf of Mibu, but Saitou Tokio can certainly make him howl.'  
  
And then he replied, "The frigid sort, of course."  
  
"Why, I never..." Tokio began to exclaim raspily. Unfortunately, the momentary distraction of his accusation was enough to give her husband an opening. Before Tokio even knew it, she found herself on the floor, one of her husband's strong hands behind the back of her head, the other casually attempting to wrestle the cigarettes from her grip. Saitou loomed above his wife, keenly observing her surprised face.  
  
"Yare, yare. You must be growing old, Kitty. That was far too slow." Finally succeeding in removing the cigarettes from Tokio's hand, he held them in front of her face, "These are mine." Then, allowing his body to press sinfully against the woman beneath him, he continued, "This is also mine."  
  
Well, he had won, again. This time. But, there was always next time, always yet another battle in the war which was her husband. And one of these days, she'd have her victory.   
  
"Ah Hajime, I did miss you so," Tokio whispered, tilting her head upwards to kiss him on the neck, filling her nose with his familiar aroma.  
  
"So ka?" he grunted, grabbing her arms as he rolled on his back, pulling her into a kneeling position straddling his chest. "You wouldn't think so, the way you had Okita strewn across your lap."  
  
"But..." Tokio stopped herself. Ah, maybe this battle wasn't over, after all. Her husband couldn't be...jealous...could he? Tokio examined his face, looking for any sign of envy. Unable to find one, she decided upon a more provocative tactic. "But, Okita is such a delightful and...passionate...man. Who would blame me, really? Certainly not even you, my most wayward husband."  
  
Saitou fumed inwardly. There was nothing between Tokio and Okita, he knew. He knew it with as much certainty as he knew the curve of his katana. Still, the edge of her words was pressing. Who would blame her, really, for cheating on him? Who would even blame her for leaving? Katsu's warnings about endangering Tokio suddenly flooded into his mind. No, he would not send her away. Tokio chose to stay. She promised to stay, and stay faithful. To wait for him. Forever. He would not ask her to break her vow.  
  
Besides, she had that all too evident look of mischievousness on her face.  
  
With a small sigh of mock resignation, Saitou replied, "I suppose, if that is what you wish, Tokio. Go and be with Okita. I won't stop you. Maybe I'll even get some work done around here without all your constant fussing and nagging."  
  
"Why you..." Tokio thumped her fist against her husband's wiry chest. "That isn't amusing in the slightest, Hajime. Besides..." Tokio leaned forward, letting her long, unbound hair fall in her husband's face. Her whisper became husky as she continued, "Okita couldn't possibly do to me the things you do. He lacks a certain....inner wickedness."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou growled, raising one eyebrow. Placing his hand on his wife's slender ankles, he ran his fingers along the outside of her calves, pushing her yukata forward as his hands explored. Suddenly, his fingers brushed something rough on Tokio's usually soft skin, causing his wife to wince.   
  
Narrowing his eyes, Saitou tilted his head to the side to look at Tokio's left leg. Long, but shallow, lines of maroon scabs dotted her calf, snaking themselves in strange pathways almost all the way to her knee. Using the pad of his thumb, he gently brushed over the area, causing Tokio's to draw in a quick pained breath between her teeth.  
  
"When did this happen, Tokio? What caused this?" His voice had already changed to bitingly cold.   
  
Tokio turned her face away from her husband's. "It's nothing. It doesn't hurt much. It will heal fine in a few days."  
  
"No," he replied icily, removing his hand and replacing the disturbed yukata. "That isn't what I asked. I asked what caused it."  
  
"It happened..." Tokio's whisper became almost inaudible as she leaned forward to press her ear to her husband's chest, "In Katsu's garden."  
  
"When?" Saitou grabbed his wife's upper arms and pushed her back up, forcing her to look into his eyes. The urgency in his voice grew even greater as he repeated his question, "When, Tokio?"  
  
Tokio attempted to look everywhere except her husband's face. Eventually, she was forced to close her eyes altogether. "When you...dragged me away from Okita."  
  
Tokio felt her husband's body tense rigidly beneath her, his muscles suddenly becoming strangely taut. Seconds later, she found herself bereft of his warmth, sitting alone on the tatami. Hajime crossed the room and re-opened the sliding door, his back to his wife as he lit a cigarette.  
  
"I'm fine, Hajime. Really. It's my fault, anyway. I should have gotten up when you asked."  
  
Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke that seemed to hang stationary in the evening air. He tried not to think of the deep scar that lined her abdomen. Or let his mind touch upon another time, another place, when under the influence of sake he had almost raped a slip of a girl who had the severe misfortune to end up as his wife. "Yes, Tokio. You can be quite obstinate." Stepping onto the engawa, he felt his jaw clench. He needed to remove himself from her presence, figure this whole damn thing out. "I'm going to practice kata. Do whatever you please."  
  
After her husband disappeared from view, Tokio sat stunned. Had he just started something and refused to finish it? Her confusion palpable, Tokio tried to reconstruct what had just happened. Her leg. He was disturbed by the fact that she had so easily been injured. Yet another weakness to add to her long list of self-recrimination.  
  
In the back yard, Saitou Hajime went through all the positions and moves of his daily kata. Unfortunately, they weren't quite having the calming effect they usually produced.   
  
'Hn. Kitty, what should I do? How shall I do right by you? Now, as then, it is by my hand that you are injured. By my own damn hand. And I have sworn to never feel guilt, to never regret any path I choose. To do so is to unleash a plague upon the soul. Look what happened to the damn Battousai. He let his former actions eat at him until he became this repulsive rurouni. Not even a hardly a man anymore, only a tormented farce that will someday either dissolve into madness or explode into violence.'  
  
Giving up on what appeared to be a fruitless task of calming himself, Saitou re-sheathed his katana. 'And why don't you leave me, Tokio? What reason have I ever given you to stay? If you left of your own accord, then I would not have broken my promise. There would be no need to doubt my resolve, to doubt the strength of my own word, if you made your own decision to leave. Goddamnit, put yourself out of the path of danger for once, Tokio. Have some fucking common sense.'  
  
Saitou opened the front shoji to find his wife asleep at her calligraphy. Her mouth formed silent words as she held her endless soundless conversation in her sleep. His wife's strange little habits had grown on him over the years. The way she talked in her sleep. The way she clutched at her neck when amused or distraught. The way she held her long chopsticks in that elegant way that he could never figure out how to replicate. The way she always smelled of honey and sugar. Saitou never thought he would prefer the company of another to the solace of living as a lone wolf. But then, Tokio wasn't really like other people. She didn't pester him with the need for insipid conversation. She didn't ask him to romance her with flattery or gifts. Whatever Tokio wanted to do, she did of her own accord. At the end of the day, the only things she had ever required of him were to get injured as little as possible and eventually come home. (With, perhaps, the possible exception of staying away from sake.) Come to think of it, he couldn't really discern why she needed him at all.  
  
Cats were, typically, even more solitary creatures than wolves, were they not?  
  
Annoyed by this entire category of thought, Saitou crossed the room and peered down at the sleeping woman. She'd written the same line ten times, each time with slightly different calligraphy, as if she couldn't decide how best to aesthetically express her statements.  
  
"I am nothing, neither mysterious nor playful, charismatic nor joyful. How is it that I exist?"  
  
Saitou's eyebrows crumpled with his vehement internal analysis of the written inquiry. What in the hell could that possibly mean? But the tone of dissatisfaction with her station seemed evident enough to him. Was Tokio truly unhappy here, but unable to express such a sentiment out of some sense of duty or responsibility? Goddamnit, if the other man didn't have such an obvious lack of experience with women himself, Saitou might even be pressed to have to ask Okita. -Despite- the overwhelming possibility that Souji would laugh at him.   
  
Infuriating. Completely infuriating.   
  
Deciding that thinking on this subject anymore would likely lead only to a headache, Saitou Hajime moved to the other side of the table and gathered Tokio up in his arms. There would be no worry of his wife waking, very little could stir the infamous Heavy Sleeper herself.   
  
After a short journey into the back room where the pair slept, Saitou placed Tokio on the futon and threw a blanket over her.   
  
Watching Tokio take hold of the blanket and turn onto her side away from him, the tall man stood in the doorway for some time, attempting to brush aside the gloom of his own thoughts until only one sentiment remained.  
  
It really was infuriating how much he cared for her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yumi rounded the corner to find Soujiro still sitting against the wall, looking terrifyingly delighted as he continued to sharpen his tanto.   
  
"Boy! Hey boy! Why'd you go and let Kamatari in?" she said, her hands against her hips.   
  
"Because Shishio-san sent for him, Yumi-san," Soujiro replied with a giggle, turning the blade over.   
  
With an exasperated sigh, Yumi sunk down into a pile next to the young man, fishing in her obi to produce her own knife. "Sharpen mine too, while you're at it. Maybe I can slit that scythe-wielding queer's neck when he comes out."  
  
"You don't like Kama-nesan very much, do you Yumi-san? Why is that?"  
  
Yumi rolled her eyes and thumped her head against the wall, "I..." Instead of answering the question, Yumi pursed her lips. "Why do you call him that, anyway? He's not a girl, you know. And I am pretty sure the two of you aren't related."  
  
"Don't you know?"  
  
"No. Tell me."  
  
"I'm not so good at telling stories, Yumi-san," Soujiro replied, re-sheathing his own small blade to begin to work on Yumi's. "Maybe you should ask Shishio-san, instead."  
  
"For goodness sake, just tell me."  
  
"Alright, alright." Soujiro stopped for a moment to scratch behind his ear in thought. Shrugging minutely, he began. "A short while after I first met Shishio-san, we had to journey deep into the countryside for a while, because so many people were looking for him. Plus, Shishio-san wanted to go somewhere that he could teach me for a while, and perfect some of his new techniques in secret. We traveled far, I mean really far, I mean really, really far...I mean..."  
  
"Get on with it, boy."  
  
"We went so far that I didn't even always understand the Japanese that people spoke. I wasn't sure where we were going, but eventually we came to a farm pretty much in the middle of nowhere. We watched it for a while, you know, just to make sure everything was safe. It turned out that eleven sisters lived there, no father, no brothers, and no mother. Except for the oldest, who traveled miles and miles once a week to the nearest village to get supplies, they never went anywhere or saw anyone."  
  
"They plowed some of the harshest land I've ever seen. Fields littered with rocks bigger than me, even. Hardly anything grew, so they were completely destitute. You know, no money? So, Shishio-san had me rent their empty barn during their planting season. He said that if they got too nosy, we could kill them off, which we would probably have to do when we left, anyway. But, until then, they were good to keep around since they brought us food and kept the place looking normal. I think Shishio-san told them we were on a quest to find spiritual enlightenment or something, and that we needed a place to meditate."  
  
"Does this story have a point, boy?" Yumi cried.  
  
"Sorry Yumi-san. Anyway, sometimes I would go outside for a stretch, and I'd see the sisters plowing their fields. You know, nothing strange there. Except the youngest one, who wasn't too much older than me, she had this enormous scythe that she used. It was so big, I didn't know how she even picked it up. I guess she saw me, because she stormed over one day, that great scythe across her shoulder. But, she didn't say anything, she just peered at me for a very long time. Finally, she reached out two fingers and just poked me, right in the chest. I didn't know really what to do, so I just stood there and smiled at her."  
  
"Hm. What are you, then?" she asked in a very quiet tone, "You're very like me. Except..."  
  
"But, before I could ask her what she meant, one of her sisters called her away."  
  
"So anyway, the next day, she did the same thing. Just walked up to me and poked and prodded me a bit with her fingers, squinted her eyes at me, and then stormed off. I told Shishio-san about it, and he thought it was pretty suspicious, too, but nothing to get worried about."  
  
"Then one night, I woke up to this horribly loud crash. I thought it was thunder, but nope: bandits. I guess they thought that a farm run by eleven women was a pretty easy target. Shishio-san and I went through the bandits in the barn like butter. Afterwards, we went up to the house to see what happened to the women. If they were dead, we'd probably have to move on, you know, Shishio-san being a wanted man and everything."  
  
"The house was really in bad shape. The place was missing some of the walls and floors. And, just as we suspected, all the women were dead. But, it turns out, all the bandits were dead too. Everyone was dead except the girl with the scythe. We found her sitting with one of her sister's bodies laying across her lap. The body had a huge gaping gash across the chest."  
  
"It was an accident," she said, her voice wavering, "You have to understand it was an accident. I was trying to protect them, but it was so dark, and everything happened so fast. I couldn't tell who was who. I couldn't see..."  
  
"And that's when I saw her clothes. They had been absolutely shredded. She wasn't a girl, at all, you see. The scythe-wielding girl was a scythe wielding boy."  
  
"After that she...he...passed out."  
  
"Soujiro," Shishio-san said, "Get the plow horse from the barn and meet me out front."  
  
"I did as Shishio-san told me, and by the time I came back, the house was already burning. Shishio-san had the scythe-boy over one of his shoulders, and put him on the horse while I set fire to the barn. We left right after that, and we traveled all night. Of course, I was a bit confused about something, so I asked Shishio-san."  
  
"Shishio-san, why was that boy dressed like a girl?"  
  
"It is not so uncommon in these parts," Shishio-san told me. "This place remains far from the new Meiji government's reaches, and there are still many skirmishes here. They probably brought the boy up as a girl to save him from being pressed into service for some passing warlord or general. Because of his uncommon strength with that scythe, he'd be a tempting prize for any passing military or political figure."  
  
"And now he is our prize?" I asked.  
  
"Well, Soujiro," Shishio-san said, leaning his katana against his shoulder, "Haven't you always wanted a big sister?"  
  
"When morning came, we found a pretty good cave to hide in at the base of the nearby mountains. The boy woke up as we were eating a rabbit I caught. For a long time, he just sat against the wall of the cave, just staring at us. Finally, Shishio-san tossed him some of the cooked meat, which he ate not at all like a girl, I must say!"  
  
He kept looking at the cave like it was going to eat him. After a while, he said, "Where are we?"  
  
"In a cave," Shishio-san replied, "Northeast of your farm."  
  
"I've never been off of the farm," the boy said cautiously.  
  
"Are you frightened?"  
  
"No. My...sisters, they never let me go, but I always wanted to see what was beyond the fields." Staring at the rocky base of the cave, he added, "You should be careful. I...I killed them...by accident...and I...might end up killing you, too."  
  
Shishio-san laughed at that. He actually laughed.   
  
Then Shishio-san said, "I'll give you a choice. You can go home to your farm and be alone with the ghosts. You can tend the land until some warlord comes and conscripts you into service for your abilities, beats you and molds you into a man, takes you to a battlefield, and lets you die for their cause. Or, you can come with Soujiro and I. I'll teach you how to wield that scythe and control that power of yours so you kill only those you care to kill. I'll leave you to be whatever you wish, man or woman, animal or demon. You can travel with us and see the world beyond that pathetic little farm. All I ask in return is that you give consideration to my cause and the possibility of lending your strength to it."  
  
The boy thought about it for a long while and then replied, "I'll stay."  
  
"So, do you have a name, kid?" Shishio-san asked.  
  
The boy put two fingers to his lips as he said, "My name used to be Honjo. But, from now on it is going to be Kamatari."  
  
Shishio-san took the scythe from where it lay behind him and tossed it at Kamatari, who caught it without even looking up from the meat he was eating.  
  
"It suits you, Kamatari. Well done."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Kamatari," Shishio Makoto said evenly as he lit his pipe, "You made excellent time."  
  
Kamatari leaned his giant scythe against the door to the baths and bowed respectfully to his mentor. "Shishio-san," he said in greeting, "The weather was good and the obstacles few. Besides, you know how desperately I have always enjoyed travel."  
  
"Indeed." Motioning to the bench upon which he sat, Shishio said, "Come. Sit. We have much to discuss."  
  
Kamatari crossed the length of the steamy room, his heart mildly torn between the joy of seeing the object of his utmost desires and the sinking realization that his concerns about not being sweaty for the meeting had become futile. The heavy vapors of the bath hung thick and sticky in the air, coating everything and everyone with a thin sheen of condensation. Taking his seat on the bench beside Shishio, Kamatari said, "Soujiro seems to be well."  
  
"Aa. He keeps busy. Unlike you, he was always content just to wield his sword. Simplicity was all he ever needed or wanted in his life."  
  
"Mmmm," Kamatari responded, leaning against the wall behind the bench. "Is that why you sent me away to all those atrocious tutors and schools, but kept him by your side?"  
  
Exhaling lazily, the burning coal eyes of Shishio traveled to look at his companion. "Soujiro will never be worldly enough to be able to manipulate people. The hindrances to his ability to express emotion allow him only to evaluate others as prey on a physical basis. But, you and I both know that being able to outsmart or control your prey off the battlefield can be just as important."  
  
"I know it now," Kamatari purred, offering his mentor a slyly coy grin, "But I was sorely cross at you for some time, Shishio-san."  
  
"And now?"  
  
Kamatari laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling with delight and glee. "And now I speak seven languages, know far too much about art, literature and science, and can blend in with anyone, from monks to geishas."  
  
"And you are the most capable great scythe wielder in all of Japan," Shishio added, calmly laying his bandaged hand upon Kamatari's. The overwhelming heat from his mentor's mere touch added to the rising warmth produced by his own rush of joy, flooding Kamatari's senses. Desperately fighting the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head, Kamatari tried to focus on something, anything, which would allow him to keep his mind on the task at hand. Oh yes. That was right. The task at hand.   
  
"Did you have something you wished for me to do for you, Shishio-san?" Kamatari asked, the sultry lustiness of his voice evident. There would be no reason to hide his feelings for Shishio. The other man already knew everything. It was, after all, Shishio himself who had undertaken Kamatari's education in the finer points of seduction. Those had been interesting nights, when the pair had roamed the streets long after Soujiro slept. Shishio would point out some man or woman and give Kamatari his pointers. "That type likes flattery. That one would most be swayed by mystery. That one...violence." In the end, Kamatari would be instructed to get one of the passersby to follow him back to their hideout where Shishio would watch and later critique his performance.   
  
The very recollection of Shishio watching him from the shadows as he seduced some stranger sent even more endorphins rushing through Kamatari's body, sending him into orbit within the hazy room. But, he found himself being prematurely plucked from his skyward travel by the sound of the bandaged man's voice.  
  
"Aa. I have a mission for you." Removing his hand from Kamatari's, Shishio picked up a folder that had been laying beside him. "My contacts in Tokyo have alerted me to the existence of a man, a man I thought time had swallowed. He has not only legendary strength, but also a sharp mind. He would be an excellent addition to the Juppon Gatana, perhaps as a replacement for that idiot Iwanbo. However, it is unknown to me if he would join, be it through mere convincing or through the harsher tactic of manipulation.  
  
Taking the folder, Kamatari leafed through the pages. "And you wish me to seek him out and provide you with an answer without revealing too much behind our own operations, I assume?"  
  
"Indeed. I've had Houji set you up with suitable accomodations and funds in Tokyo. The information should all be in the folder." Shishio stood, looking down at the smaller man for a moment before turning towards the back door. "I would ask you to stay and enjoy the hot springs, but I know you would rather get started on your mission."  
  
"Yes, Shishio-san. Perhaps another time," Kamatari called, watching the object of his esteem and adoration walk out of the room.   
  
"Report back as soon as possible, Kamatari."  
  
And then Shishio Makoto was gone. Kamatari breathed a small sigh of longing before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the folder in his hands. 'Saitou Hajime, hm? Wasn't he a Shinsengumi Captain?' Kamatari tried to recall Shishio-san's tales of the Wolves of Mibu. 'Interesting. It will be a challenge, and will take quite a bit of planning. Nonetheless...' Kamatari's eyes lit up at the next thought, 'Shishio-san must have quite a bit of confidence in old Kama-chan to bestow me with such a complicated mission.' Clutching the folder to his chest rather excitedly, Kamatari stood up, trying desperately not to swoon.   
  
Exiting the room, he found himself diagonal from the sitting figures of Yumi and Soujiro, one looking bored and the other looking deliriously happy as he sharpened a tanto.  
  
"Yumi." Kamatari said by way of greeting, a small hiss accompanying the syllables. Not only had she usurped his place at Shishio's side, but now she was sitting far too close to Soujiro. The evidence of her corruption upon Kamatari's happiness never seemed to end. Certainly someday soon, Shishio would see how frivolous she was. Someday soon, he'd rid himself of her.  
  
"Kamatari," Yumi replied coldly. "Will you be staying the evening?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid my -mission- is far too important to tarry," Kamatari said, pointedly reminding the woman that while -he- had a mission, she certainly didn't. In his expert opinion, Yumi of the Night was not only expendable, she was a complete waste of futon space.  
  
"That's too bad," Soujiro commented, apparently missing the tension between the other two people in the room. "And I was so hoping to hear about that battle you had with the scythe wielder from Korea."  
  
"Pish posh, ototo, you only have to see that I am standing before you to know how it turned out. Well, anyway, ta! I'm off. Take care of yourself, Soujiro." As an afterthought, as he walked out the open door, Kamatari added dryly, "Goodbye Yumi."  
  
Handing her back the tanto, Soujiro said with eerie chipperness, "There you go, Yumi-san. If you hurry, you can try to stab him in the back."  
  
Yumi peered at the young man at her side, the boy who never showed any emotion but joy.  
  
If she wasn't mistaken, he'd just insulted her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime had a great deal on his mind. Because of this, he scowled even more deeply than usual as he made his way through the streets of Tokyo towards his home. The men and women of Tokyo spontaneously moved to the other side of the paths and streets when they saw the wiry policeman slinking through the city. People had always instinctively feared him. Perhaps even the most common man had an ability to sense ki, and had, since the days of the dinosaurs, used the shadowy ability, unbeknownst to themselves, to keep far from the path of danger.  
  
Raijuta had scratched the Hitokiri Battousai. 'How pathetic,' Saitou mused inwardly, 'Even at half his normal strength, the assassin from the Bakumatsu would have taken that pig easily. It is utterly disturbing to see a man fall so far in his abilities.' Still, what troubled him more than the disgust with his old rival were the implications of the situation. If the Battousai could slip so far in his swordsmanship, could not anyone? And really, when was the last time he'd truly fought anyone of his own level of ability? He'd briefly run up against Okita, but from that short battle, he could tell little. Besides, it would make sense to assume that Okita, too, had lost some of his old power since the days of the Revolution. Even if he still practiced in secret, Okita certainly didn't fight on a day to day basis.   
  
While this thought preyed on his mind, still another ate at him from the opposite direction. Reports just didn't seem to coming in from certain remote areas of the south. Policemen, and even a few that worked for him, had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Reinforcements tended not to report back. Something strange had been brewing, and while the government had not yet been brought to a panic, Saitou Hajime certainly didn't relish the realization that he just had no idea what was going on. He went through a list of possibilities in his head. Perhaps some contingent of Saigo Takamori's samurai had survived the Seinan Wars and were rebuilding some sort of army. Perhaps a powerful foreigner had set up some sort of remote stronghold, and had bribed all of the policemen to join his force. No, neither of these seemed likely. Surely in either of these instances at least -one- of his charges would have returned or sent word. He did, after all, only send the most loyal of his spies on missions abroad.  
  
On top of this, someone had definitely been watching him. Someone clever enough to do so only in public places, and then, from his estimation, only through a network of underlings. Still, it was enough to make his hackles rise and keep his body and senses at a constant state of alertness.   
  
Okita had noticed it too, as the men had gone together one afternoon to watch a local kendo competition.   
  
"There is certainly someone keeping an eye on us," Okita mumbled, "But I don't sense any immediate danger."  
  
"Aa. They don't follow me home, however. So they likely already know where I live."  
  
"Disturbing." Okita remarked. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on the ladies in the afternoons. I don't want them to end up dealing with another Ienobu."  
  
Saitou grunted his consent. Souji had finally revealed to him the ultimate fate of the Hachinisasareru ninja. And while Hajime found it more than slightly annoying that Okita had killed Fusada rather than allow him to be arrested and questioned, he also found himself generally pleased with the knowledge that Okita, unlike the Battousai, would still kill if so moved by his personal interpretation of Shinsengumi ethics. Whereas Himura had buried the killing sword, Okita had only laid it aside to pursue his brother's goals. And there it remained, at his side, ever ready to be picked up once again should Souji's conscience demanded it.  
  
As he finally came to Taito street, the most sticky situation came back to mind. Tokio. The immediate buzzing that filled his head upon merely thinking of his wife these days would have driven a lesser man to insanity. Tokio. Tokio. He even fewer answers regarding her now, fewer then did the night seven months ago when he discovered the scars on her legs,   
  
What the hell was he supposed to do? What the hell did she want him to do? If she stayed by his side, certainly she'd end up getting seriously hurt one of these days, perhaps even killed. Besides, it seemed obvious that she was unhappy as his wife. Why didn't she say so? Why didn't she leave?  
  
He had hardly touched her in the past seven months. Had he wanted to? Of course. What warm blooded man wouldn't want to be buried in his wife's passionate embrace, to hear her repeatedly whisper your name, her lips trembling as if she were in the presence of a God? Yes. A man would pretty much have to be dead not to want that after experiencing it once.   
  
But, he just couldn't. Every time he even contemplated it, he'd remember all the wounds he'd ever caused her. He'd recall the sadness that she had expressed in her writing that night, and now exuded all the time. That proved far too distracting, so in the end he had forced himself not to think about her. Not to touch her. Someday soon, she'd leave of her own accord. She'd leave and he would be able to, once again, focus on his mission.  
  
Approaching his house, Saitou placed his hand on the gate and pushed it forward, expecting it to swing wide and allow him to pass, as usual. Instead, after opening about six inches, it hit something on the other side with a muted thud.  
  
The metallic odor of blood hit his nostrils only a second later.   
  
Blood. But, not much blood.   
  
Leaning into the gate with his shoulder, Saitou pushed it open a few more inches and stepped inside. In the dirt before the door lay his wife on her side. Tokio's limbs arranged themselves in a haphazard position, one arm outstretched in front of her, the other above her head, her legs tangled upon themselves and the length of her kimono. Her left hand bled lightly through the dirt and gravel set into a wound likely gained from stopping herself as she fell to the ground.  
  
Then he smelled the sake. What had she done? Bathed in the stuff?  
  
As the jarring by the door apparently dislodged Tokio from whatever drunken stupor she had worked herself into, the woman's head turned from the side to stare upwards through a lacy labyrinth of untamed back hair. Saitou squatted down beside Tokio, attempting not to be overpowered by the thick scent of alcohol. Then, one of his wife's amber eyes blinked open. Trying to focus, Tokio whimpered in her whispered way, before settling on the image of her husband.  
  
"Hajime," Tokio pronounced in her hushed tone. "Come closer."  
  
Saitou raised his eyebrows in response and lowered his face towards his wife's. Tokio rolled her head from side to side to remove the tangles of hair blocking her view. Her other eye opening, though remaining as generally unfocused as the first, Tokio lifted her head from the ground carefully and brought her nose level to his.  
  
And then she spat at him. The thick wad of Tokio's saliva struck her husband at the corner of his mouth, dripping grotesquely down his chin. Saitou leaned back on his haunches and wiped away the goo with the sleeve of his uniform. His wife, on the other hand, appeared to be laughing madly, her rasping uproar sounding a great deal like sandpaper against metal.   
  
Leaning forward again, he easily pulled his wife from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. She attempted to protest, but in her drunken state, her small fisted blows and attempted kicks found themselves even more resolutely without power. Finally giving up, she whispered from her upside-down position against his back, "I see now. I have to be drunk for you to want to touch me."  
  
"You are acting like a spoiled child, Tokio. And if you act like a child, I will treat you as one."  
  
Tokio attempted to form a reply, but instead found her vision swimming from the incongruous passing of the upside-down world. Instead she merely groaned quietly and let her head bounce against her husband's lower back. Where -was- he carrying her? But, it was too painful to think.  
  
"Hn. There are few things as repulsive as a woman who drinks," he said, leaning forward again. Seconds later, Tokio found herself laying in a pile on the floor of the small bathhouse. She curled up on one side, trying to keep the world from spinning.   
  
"I really don't care what you think anymore, Hajime. Besides, why shouldn't I drink? You're the one who can't handle his liquor, you arrogant son of a bitch."  
  
From her curled position, Tokio couldn't see what happened next, though she certainly heard and felt it. Three clicking steps resounded as her husband stepped across the room and picked up two buckets of water. He splashed them both on his wife in quick succession, causing Tokio to bolt upright and sputter as she brushed wildly at her face.   
  
"Stand up, Tokio," he commanded coolly, dropping the second of the two buckets onto the ground as if to punctuate his statement with the clatter of wood against wood. Tokio did as her husband bade, though the process of standing proved difficult, the now slick floor a dangerous obstacle to her balance. Slipping only slightly, Tokio caught herself by leaning against the wall as she stood.   
  
"Now," he continued, "Take off those wet things."   
  
Tokio flicked her wet hair to the side, a tiny smirk reaching her lips as she reached behind her back to untie her obi. "Is that...what you want, Hajime?" Her husband did not move during the entire time it took her to remove the constrictive belt and toss it to the side.  
  
Running her fingers down the front of her kimono, she allowed it to fall open, revealing the full length of her youthful body. Her long blue scarf fell over her chest, slipping into the divide between her breasts like a strange silk waterfall.  
  
Stepping forward carefully, foot in front of dainty foot, she ran her fingernails along the dark wood of the bathhouse. Approaching her husband, she stopped briefly as slats of light from the high thin windows of the bath illuminated her torso.  
  
'Don't look at her body,' Saitou's mind warned, 'Look at her eyes. Keep looking at her eyes. Do not be swayed from the path you have chosen. Do not give in to her now. Do not be tempted.'  
  
Tokio reached out and grabbed her husband's gloved hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she nipped softly at the fingertips until clenching down on the material with her teeth and pulling the glove away from the calloused hand. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, she guided the newly liberated fingers towards the naked flesh at her hip.  
  
"Tell me what you want, Hajime," Tokio purred, "I would give anything to you. I would do anything for you."  
  
"Anything?" he replied, with some difficulty, through his teeth.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Reaching to his side with his free hand, Hajime pulled a short bathing yukata from a nearby shelf. Thrusting it at his wife, he replied, "Then put this on."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio wandered the streets of the dark city, the small suitcase in her hand seeming heavier by the minute. Where to go? Where to go? Night would fall soon, and she would have to find some place.   
  
Her heart still fluttered from the last interaction she had with her husband, causing Tokio to occasionally forget to pay attention to her own feet. She stumbled into an alleyway to catch a breath.   
  
Okita's wasn't far from here. No. That wouldn't work. An inn, perhaps? Far too many people. Besides, she might need her money for other purposes later.  
  
There was on option, and she knew it, instinctively, to be the best one for the situation. With a heavy sigh, Tokio stood and headed further into the alley, her gaze intent on the trash bin at its farthest depths.   
  
Climbing into the pile of refuse, Tokio pulled her suitcase against her torso as a makeshift blanket. The whole contraption smelled of spoiled fish, so Tokio wound her scarf lightly around her face and attempted, successfully, to fall off to sleep.  
  
An hour or so later, a shadowy figure dislodged itself from the wall. Stalking quietly across the passageway, the moonlight betrayed the person's presence as it reflected smoothly down the blade of an oversized scythe.   
  
Lifting up a few thin pieces of wood, Kamatari peered inquisitively at the sleeping woman who seemed to be silently talking in her sleep.   
  
"Hmmmmm," he cooed, putting two fingers to his lips in amusement, "Why would Saitou-san go and throw away a perfectly good wife?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Tokio becomes well acquainted with an interesting fellow by the name of Kamatari.   
  
***Author Notes:   
  
Not a lot of notes for this chapter. This chapter, I know, isn't very exciting, and not a lot happens, but I wanted to provide a set up for the coming chapters.   
  
I decided not to post the outtakes that I wrote because they ended up being way unfunny. Maybe in the appendix to the story.  
  
I will, however, post this version of an old joke:  
  
Kenshin, Sanosuke, Aoshi, Saitou and Misao are all on an airplane heading to Kyoto. Suddenly, the airplane experiences a great deal of turbulence. The pilot comes on the loudspeaker and says: "I'm sorry to tell you this, but we're losing altitude. We need to lighten the load."  
  
Well, the five passengers start ripping everything possible out of the plane and throwing it out the door. Chairs, luggage, everything. But, unfortunately, the plane is still losing altitude.  
  
Looking at the others, Misao gives them all a smart salute and says, "For Aoshi-sama!" as she jumps out of the plane. Everyone looks around at each other in absolute awe.  
  
The pilot comes on the loudspeaker and says, "Whatever you are doing, keep it up!"  
  
Aoshi, looking cool and mysterious, says, "For strength!" He jumps out of the plane in a most cool and mysterious way.  
  
The pilot says, "Keep on going guys, just a bit more."  
  
Sanosuke turns around, secures his red bandana and exclaims, "For Captain Sagara and the Sekihotai!" He beats his fists together once and hops out of the plane.  
  
The loudspeaker comes on once more and the pilot says, "We're almost there, keep on doing whatever you are doing."  
  
Saitou looks around, and then glares at Kenshin. "For the Shinsengumi!" he exclaims.  
  
Then he picks up Kenshin and throws him off the plane.  
  
***Character Notes:   
  
Mishima Eiji: Well, we get to meet the boy, finally, at least.   
  
Kamatari: In the manga and in the anime, we see the battle between Kaoru, Misao, and Kamatari, but we still don't learn much about him other than the fact that he loves Shishio. I wanted to flesh him out a bit. I decided that when Yumi says "I was always jealous of the boy and Kamatari", that there would have to be some link between Soujiro, Kamatari and Shishio that would cause this jealousy. If she were merely jealous of his fighting ability, why not be jealous of all the other Juppon Gatana?  
  
In addition, I wanted Kamatari to be slightly twisted, but not unreasonably so. Killing your family by accident, and then spending some of your youth being taught things like "seduction" by Shishio seems creepy enough to me. I see Kamatari as being extremely worldly, now that he is free of the farm and his strange sheltered upbringing. All of the "good things" in life which he has been allowed to sample, he has been able to do so by the blessing of Shishio. Shishio, of course, merely sees Kamatari as a pawn, of course, one who he has shaped to be able to do certain things that Soujiro can not accomplish, such as manipulate people.   
  
I hope the Kamatari fans will eventually forgive me for any liberties taken.  
  
Saitou Tokio: I was trying to think "What sort of drunk would Tokio be?" I think she'd be a "courageous" drunk, doing and saying things that she would be far too inhibited to do without the alcohol.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
A lot of things that the characters do or think are rehashed from earlier chapters. This is mostly on purpose, as I wanted to reaffirm them before moving on.  
  
People don't actually plow land with scythes or pickaxes, I'm pretty certain. Eiji is using the pickaxe to break up rocks.   
  
Of course, for the next few chapters, a knowledge of the Kyoto arc may be necessary to follow some of the events.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Wow. Lots of reviews. Thanks again to everyone. If you didn't know, Haku Baikou has given me the honor of mirroring this story on the site: www.hakubaikou.com. If you haven't taken a look at that site, do so ASAP! It is georgeous!  
  
I've also recently gotten a paid account here at ff.net. So, now I can track the exact number of people reading my stories. (Egomuch?) I was surprised to see that 305 people have read Chapter 10 of H&T. I am so very glad so many people are enjoying the story. This, and your wonderful reviews keep me plugging on at every turn.   
  
Special thanks to: The Bloody Queen of Hearts, me me me and only me, chibi-chan29, Wolfgirl, tgrlily8701, JadeGoddess, Ebony-Glass, Charmed-Anime, and AiteanE  
  
And In Addition:  
  
Tessira Aleyn: Well. Maaaaaaaaybe. Smirk smirk. If I told you, that would take away the surprise! It is odd that you liked those particular lines. I thought they didn't fit and almost left that section out altogether!  
  
fujifunmum: One of these days, she'd just going to actually come to her limit with that man. I hate to see what happens then!  
  
Cat, Avatar for the DCG: I don't think Tokio wants to think about the fact that Kenshin ended up on the winning side (or her husband on the losing side). She was really too young, at the time, to understand the Revolution on any more than a childlike level which has persisted into her adulthood. In addition, understanding politics isn't her forte. In time, her views will change with events, and she will come to a different realization on the issue altogether.  
  
LSR-7: An hour? Wow. It took a lot less time to write than this chapter, strangely enough, even though it was twice as long. But, I generally write on my various fics for about 2-4 hours every night, leaning more towards the 4 end, usually. I would say that this means that I have a lot of time on my hands, but I see fic writing as merely practice for writing a book, which I wish to do sometime soon.  
  
Kenta Divina: Nope. Yamaguchi Katsu was really, historically, Saitou's sister's name. I guess it can be a boy's name or a girl's name. Glad you liked my goldfish!  
  
Animyth: So glad to hear you did well on your project! No. Quite a few more chapters to go. I keep thinking "I must be getting close to the end soon." But, no, the story is a horrible slave driver that just goes on and on.  
  
kakashi-fan: I don't have a mailing list. Being relatively new to ff.net, I am not sure if that is something people do a lot, or what. Since I have a paid account now, I think you can sign up to get alerts when the story is updated, but I am not exactly certain how that works, or if it works at all.  
  
bonessasan: It was supposed to be mildly surprising. I don't think I did a very good job of keeping it a secret, because many people figured it out way ahead of time. Oh well.  
  
conspirator: Oh no! Don't put down the pen! Keep on writing! Anyway, I am glad you find the characters interesting. I swear that I do labor over every line, especially Saitou's dialogue and thoughts, to try to keep them as IC, yet dynamic, as possible. I always hope that I don't stray too far from the believable.  
  
tesuka- chan: I'm glad you enjoy the portrayal of our two main characters. I certainly enjoy writing them, even if they play havok on my brain even while I sleep.  
  
haku baikou: Thanks again for all your kind words and for supporting this story, as well as Hitokiri Stainmaster and It's A Wonderful Life Himura Kenshin on your site. I hope you'll keep reading. :D  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Ototo: Younger brother. 


	12. Chapter 12: Turning The Table

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 12 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Don't worry. Tokio is a capable woman." -Saitou Hajime, Vol. 9, Part 71, Rurouni Kenshin  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I will go."  
  
Her husband said nothing to that, nothing at all. But his eyes betrayed the sentiment that his stony visage would refuse to reveal. For once, the burning light of righteousness that found safe harbor from the world's harsh winds of moral complacency seemed to dim and sizzle as if doused by the coming tide. He looked away from Tokio, his eyes turning towards the ceiling in his quest for some unknown element. Strength? Comprehension? Surcease from tedium? Tokio doubted she would ever know.  
  
"I don't want to be your weakness, Hajime. I have never wanted that. And when you look at me as a delicate creature, when you pity me, you deny me all that you have promised. It lowers me. And it does your own values a great disservice. I said I would follow you, wherever your journey must take you. If you carry me the entire way, you'll never reach your destination. Therefore, you must let me go."  
  
Saitou Hajime's gaze met his wife's once again. The central compass of morality upon which he based his decisions seemed to have no true north in this matter. If he was wrong...if she was wrong...both lives would forever be lost, shipwrecked with no hope of the survivors ever reaching the comforts of the shore. But, in the end, they had journeyed together over a thousand oceans, navigated only by the stars of their dual virtues: his unbroken resolve and her deep faith. This time, the tables were turned.  
  
"Aa. I will let you go."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio awoke to the deeply pleasant aroma of lemons and the sound of running water.   
  
Lemons? Water?  
  
Pushing herself up, Tokio wobbled slightly. The ground beneath her arms seemed too unstable to be her own futon. Her futon? No. Last night she had not slept in her own house. She had slept in an alleyway on top of rotting fish innards.  
  
Blinking away the haze of sleep, Tokio surveyed her surroundings. She sat atop a western style bed covered with a fine blanket of the deepest green satin. Above her, from a canopy constructed of thick bamboo hung thick sheets of green brocade. Tokio pushed one of the sheets aside cautiously, peering into the room beyond. She found a large room decorated in golden yellows and greens. At one corner sat a writing desk topped with a well-arranged fern. Beside the bed, a large Chinese vase sat next to a tall bookcase, in which a collection of decorative plates had been put on display.   
  
Tokio placed her toes on the ground, wiggling them a bit as if testing the temperature of an unknown body of water. She examined herself next, and finding that she was both still clothed and seemingly uninjured, the nigh-mute woman gathered her courage and stepped off the bed, heading for the door.  
  
"Comment allez-vous, ma cherie?" a friendly voice inquired from the other end of the room.  
  
Tokio spun around, her left hand flying protectively to her throat while her other disappeared into the sleeve of her kimono searching instinctively for the needles hidden in the lining.  
  
A young man dressed in a dark blue gi with white squares on the sleeves sat on a small divan placed against the wall. In his hands, he held a rather thick book which he snapped shut as he stood. Tokio took one step backwards as the man placed the volume on the seat and started towards her.  
  
"I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget to think in the proper language. Books. Have you ever read Madame Bovary? No? Flaubert is an excellent author. Doesn't translate well to Japanese, I'm afraid."  
  
"My sincere apologies," Tokio whispered with thick uncertainty, "But, are we acquainted?"  
  
"No," the younger man said with after emitting nasal giggle, "I don't suppose we are. My name is Honjo. And you must be Tokio, yes?"  
  
"How...how did you know that?"   
  
"Ah. I'm afraid it is embroidered on some of your things in your suitcase. I hope you will not think me terribly rude for having looked through them, but one doesn't often find a well-dressed lady such as yourself sleeping in bins of trash."  
  
Tokio took a better look at the man standing before her. He seemed several years her younger, no older than nineteen or twenty. Although most of his hair had been pulled back into a small ponytail, short bangs at the front framed a decidedly feminine face crowned with sapphire eyes. He smiled confidently, but unlike the creepy Fujita Goro smile of her husband, or the genuine sunshine continually gracing Okita's face, this smile seemed more like the practiced smile of a young gentleman of culture. It played on his face as if requiring no genuine good humor to accompany it, an expert affectation used to easily maneuver through unpleasant social situations. Nonetheless, it contained a spry element, one that wasn't so much good natured as it was crackling with youth.  
  
"Monsieur Flaubert would be sore with me from beyond the grave if I had let such a mystery go unraveled. So I did the most dastardly thing possible. I brought you here and forced you to sleep in a bed. Wicked, ne?" Honjo ended his proclamation by placing two fingers against his cheek and allowing the last syllable of his statements to draw out into a thoughtful hum.  
  
"I'm very appreciative of your kindness, Honjo-san. You must let me reimburse you for your troubles," Tokio replied as she bowed to her host.  
  
The man known to most of his associates as 'Kamatari' pressed his hands together underneath his chin. "Mmmm? Reimburse? No, Tokio-san, I was rather hoping you'd be my victim."  
  
"Victim?" Tokio repeated, her whisper lacking the appropriate amount of alarm.  
  
"Yes. Oh my, yes. I have scientific experiments in the kitchen under the codename 'flapjack' which I shall, most assuredly, torture you with, should you be agreeable. Are you hungry, Tokio-san?"  
  
Tokio quirked one eyebrow in perfect imitation of her husband.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Meshibe Naoya spat boyishly as she walked towards Taito street. Might as well get it out of her system now. You couldn't do such things in front of Tokio-san. Oh no. Not if you wanted to avoid a quiet sigh and yet another whispered explanation of ladylike behavior. 'Tokio-san probably never spat at anything in her life. I bet she even refuses to have spit. Even if she does, I bet she doesn't call it 'spit'. Probably calls it 'sparkly lip liquid' or something.'  
  
"Hey!" a woman sweeping the sidewalk exclaimed, barely moving out of the way before being hit with the projectile saliva. "That's gross."  
  
Naoya shrugged as she kept on walking, taking in the sights and sounds of a neighborhood coming to life. A dog barking. A young boy playing with a paper ball. A couple bidding each other goodbye for the day. Not at all like her neighborhood, where morning sounds included old Gokaji-san coughing up her lung, the snoring of the bum who slept in front of their flat, and her mother yelling frantically 'Where's my damned apron, Naoya?"  
  
Naoya headed through the gate to the Saitous' house and meandered up the front walkway. 'Hm. Usually, Tokio-san is loading up the cart by now. Heh heh heh. If -she's- late then she certainly can't say anything about -me- being late.'  
  
"Oi! Tokio-san! We have to get going to get our spot or that kite maker will steal it again!" Naoya exclaimed as she rapped on the bamboo post.  
  
The shoji slid all the way open and Naoya found herself face to face with a snarling Saitou Hajime. A bit surprised, Naoya emitted a minor "eep" and looked the man up and down. He appeared to be missing not only the over-shirt from his police uniform but also one of his obsessively polished shoes.  
  
"She's not here. Go away."  
  
The shoji slid shut with a snap, barely missing taking off Naoya's nose. The confused youth tilted her head to one side as she scratched her elbow in thought. 'What in the fucking hell is that all about?' Deciding she just -had- to know, Naoya pushed the shoji back open and stepped inside.   
  
"What'dya mean she's not here? Where is she, then?" Naoya asked as the tall man slipped on his other shoe.  
  
"Look rat-girl, does that mange covered head of yours understand the meaning and implication of the word 'trespassing'?" Stooping to tie his shoe, he looked up, glaring at the young woman in the same manner he used to frighten delinquent teenagers who took to loitering on the streets.  
  
"No. I don't know what it means." Naoya lied, beginning to meander about the room as if there were a possibility that Tokio might be hiding under the tatami or in one of the cabinets. "Did she go to market or something? We were supposed to make those pastries from Franceland today. E-clears or something."  
  
Saitou began to search around the house, as he had already done three times, for the shirt to his uniform. Naoya followed him as he traveled from room to room, asking question upon question regarding the location of her mentor until he finally slapped his hand against the wall and turned to bark: "She's. Not. Here. Packed her suitcase and left. Got it? Now get lost."  
  
"Huh?" Naoya's face contorted, scrunching up her features in a look somewhere between confusion and disgust. "What did you do now? Oi. Oi! I'm talking to you. What did you do to make her leave?"  
  
Saitou said nothing to this, instead choosing to continue the search for his shirt. 'Where did you put it, Tokio? Goddamnit, my wife is gone for one day and I'm already one of those men who can't even dress himself. How embarrassingly irritating.'  
  
"You had better go find her, Fujita-san. You had better shape up right this instant and go find Tokio-san and apologize to her and get her to come home."  
  
"Why would I do that?" he asked, tossing an old gi across the room as he continued his quest.  
  
"B...because," Naoya exclaimed, utterly incredulous at the question, "Because she's your wife and she could be in trouble or something."  
  
"Ahou. Tokio is perfectly capable of handling herself." Standing up straight again, he reached into his pocket and took out a wad of money which he threw at Naoya, "Look. There's your pay. Now leave."  
  
"Not until you tell me what is going on!" Naoya said threateningly, leaving the money on the ground.   
  
Saitou Hajime decided he had about all he could take of the rat-girl this morning. On top of the fact that half his uniform was missing, he was already late for a meeting to receive information on possibly one of the most important missions he had ever undertaken. The very last thing he wanted to do was have to explain everything to this obnoxious little kid when she probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Hell, she'd probably throw some sort of tantrum about it, and he certainly didn't need that right this minute.  
  
So, his left hand shot out and grabbed Naoya by the ear, dragging her, despite her vociferous protests, through the house and out into the yard.  
  
"It is none of your goddamn business. Didn't my wife teach you not to intrude in other people's affairs? Now leave my property, or I will put you in jail for breaking and entering."  
  
Naoya stamped her feet in a huff as she rubbed her throbbing ear. "You ass! Just for that, I'm not going to tell you where Tokio-san stores your shirts. Hmph!" Turning on her heel, Naoya stormed out of the yard, slamming the gate behind her as loudly as her little hands and immense fury could manage.  
  
Saitou's fingers curled into fists as he suppressed the urge to follow the girl and make her other ear sting just as badly as the first. This whole affair wasn't just infuriating, it was rapidly becoming borderline hellish.  
  
Outside, Naoya grimaced as she continued to coddle her sore ear. 'That guy. Sometimes I think Tokio-san's gotta be crazy. And how could he just be so...uncaring...about Tokio-san? Someone's gotta knock some sense into him. And if I can't do it, then I only know one person who can.'  
  
With a resolute expulsion of air to blow her bangs out of her face, Naoya turned down the street and headed towards Okita's house.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Pancakes, Honjo-san? I'm afraid I've never heard of them." Tokio picked up the circular object on her plate with her chopsticks and peered at it inquisitively.   
  
"Mmmm. Indeed," Kamatari replied, cutting his pancake with a fork after drowning it in syrup. "My old English tutor used to make them. I can never quite get them to the same consistency as he did, though. Interesting fellow, he was. From someplace in the Americas called 'Oh-claw-homer.' Bald as a baby, though. Used to tease him about it relentlessly..."  
  
As Honjo rambled on and on, Tokio gazed out into the elegant courtyard beyond the outdoor dining area where she and her eccentric host now ate. She half expected to see her husband lurking there, watching her from just beyond the immaculately tended garden, slinking in the shadows underneath a tree.   
  
"...Singing something about 'Home, home on the range, where the deer and the envelopes play.' Never did understand that one. Exceptionally queer folk, Americans, don't you think, Tokio-san?" Seeing that his guest seemed more preoccupied with other thoughts he continued in a lower tone. "Tokio-san? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on like that. I'm just so excited to have someone to talk to, for once. I don't mind so much that my father has to travel and leave me here, usually, but I tend to get so lonely sometimes." Kamatari's eyes sparkled as leaned in closer to Tokio, "But, then, I don't suppose a fine woman such as yourself often finds herself lonely, hm?"  
  
"Actually, Honjo-san," Tokio replied quietly, deciding to give up on the 'pancake' which she now sat back onto her plate, "I often find myself alone. But, it wasn't until a few months ago that I understood the meaning of the word 'loneliness'."  
  
"Well, we must make a pact not to be lonely for the time being, mmmm?"  
  
"Yes, that would be nice." Tokio agreed, looking more than a bit distracted. She stared at his hands. As delicate looking as they were, it would have been hard to miss the calluses.   
  
Noticing Tokio's gaze, Kamatari chuckled. "Father says a young man of society should have training in every area, including kenjutsu. Just in case, you know. Between you and I, I'm not very good."  
  
"My apologies for staring, Honjo-san. It's just that my husband... Well, your hands reminded me of his."  
  
"Oh?" Kamatari replied, his interest obviously peaked. Tilting his head with girlish inquisitiveness he asked, "Is your husband some sort of swordsman?"  
  
"Well. He was. I mean, he is," Tokio felt at a bit of a loss as to how to explain things properly, "He's a policeman, you see. And he has special permission to carry a sword."  
  
"Really? That's quite uncommon these days, hm? He must be very good."  
  
"Sadly, yes. He is very good."  
  
"Sadly?" Kamatari repeated, putting on his best 'confused' face.  
  
"Yes. His immense talent keeps him forever bound to his mistress." Tokio looked out into the courtyard, watching the tiny stream of water meander it's way through a system of fountains and pools, over rocks once smoothed by an even larger body of water. Tokio wondered the stones felt at all displaced in their manmade creek. Then again, rocks were just rocks. No matter where you put them, they remained the same entities, did they not? Perhaps they were even a little relieved not to be forced into obscurity at the bottom of some river.   
  
"His mistress?" Kamatari asked, clicking his tongue slightly. Though, internally he briefly wondered if he'd picked up the right woman. The files said nothing about a mistress. If Saitou didn't trust his wife, she'd probably only have minimal information. And if he didn't love her, she'd be nigh useless if he needed leverage. And what did swordsmanship have to do with some dopey woman, anyway? Nonetheless, Kamatari affected his best concerned demeanor and said softly, "I'm so sorry, Tokio-san."  
  
"No. No. His mistress is named 'Japan', and her sanctity and virtue are always foremost in his mind," Tokio explained, "He would do anything to save her from corruption."  
  
"Is that so?" Kamatari put down his fork and followed Tokio's gaze into the garden. A sudden shiver crept down his spine, a feeling so disconcerting that it almost shook him from his task. It felt as if an intense mass of long repressed emotions had suddenly shot forth from some unknown force, like a geyser or a volcano. Perhaps, Kamatari supposed, he was merely experiencing a great deal of happiness over getting so much information from the woman so easily. Struggling to contain himself, he finally stated, "Your husband must be very proud of this wonderful Meiji government he is helping to create."  
  
Tokio looked away from the courtyard at her host. A small, brave smile which fought an epic battle against the sorrow in her eyes crossed her lips. 'No. He's not overly fond of this Meiji era."  
  
'What would Hajime be doing now?' Tokio wondered, 'Is he thinking of me as I think of him? I do so hope he is eating properly. Well, by now he must be well into his day.'  
  
"I'm sorry Honjo-san. I've been such trouble to you, laying the burdens of my life at your feet."   
  
"It is quite alright, Tokio-san. These things happen. But, I do hope you will feel free to stay with me for a few days. I really wouldn't be able to sleep thinking of you in another trash bin." Kamatari pouted by sticking out his lower lip a bit and proceeded to bat his eyelashes at Tokio.  
  
"Of course, Honjo-san. I certainly could not refuse your hospitality." Once again, Tokio smiled bravely and continued in her whisper, "Now, won't you tell me all about your family? I believe you said your father is in pearl farming, yes?"  
  
"Oh yes, Tokio-san," Kamatari said, stifling his laughter, "If only you could have seen some of the pearl necklaces I have made."  
  
Judging by this woman's air of prudish dignity, Kamatari was ninety-nine percent certain that she would not catch his statement's raunchy double meaning.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Plink.  
  
"Okita-san!"  
  
Plink plink.  
  
"Okita-san!!"  
  
Naoya stomped her foot, three seconds from having a total meltdown. She bent down in the gravel drive and scooped up another handful of rocks, ready to throw these, too, at Okita's bedroom window.   
  
She saw the curtains behind the windowpane move a bit, and Okita's face peer at her through the polished glass. Okita held up one finger to indicate that he would be with her shortly, and disappeared.  
  
Naoya dropped the dirty rocks back on the ground and, after wiping her hands on her kimono, proceeded to take up pacing. Even after walking half way across the city, she still felt full of energy. 'Okita-san has to help me out. We have to find Tokio-san and bring her home. If we don't, I'll never become -refined-. And if I don't become refined, how am I supposed to get a nice job? And if I don't get a nice job, how am I going to support mother when she finally gets too old to work at that inn?"  
  
Okita Souji stepped out onto the porch looking more than a bit bedraggled. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and Naoya noticed that underneath eyes lay dark circles. Souji rubbed at his face in a rather childlike manner as he stifled a yawn.   
  
"Okita-san, are you ok? You look fucking awful."  
  
"Thanks Naoya," Okita replied, not even trying to smile for once. "I'm fine. I just...had to work all night."  
  
"I don't like that Okubo-kyo guy if this is how he treats you, Okita-san," Naoya announced, scrunching up her face for the second time that day.  
  
"I'll be okay, my spirited friend." Okita sat down on the steps of Katsu's manor, patiently changing the subject. "Was there something you needed, Naoya?"  
  
"Oh. Right." The next words which came out of Naoya's mouth flew past so quickly that Okita was worried that the young woman might run out of air. "You see, I went to find Tokio-san at her house but she wasn't there and Fujita-san said that she had packed her suitcase and left and I asked him why and he wouldn't tell me and I think there was maybe a fight and Fujita-san won't go look for Tokio-san and she could be in trouble because I don't think he knows where she is and we have to find her and you have to go talk some sense in Fujita-san right away. Wait, she isn't here, is she?"  
  
Okita blinked, trying to process the run-on sentence and the following question into sensible pieces of information. "No," he said slowly, "Tokio is not here, I'm afraid."  
  
"Well? Don't you think you should talk to Fujita-san?"  
  
Okita sighed deeply and shook his head. "No. I don't think that would be productive towards the goal you seek, Naoya."  
  
"But...but, Okita-san..."  
  
"Don't fret, Naoya. I'm certain it will work itself all out in the end, hm? It is unwise to get involved in such things."  
  
Naoya shook her head, as if firmly denying the man's suggestion. "But they are my friends. And...and if anything happens to Tokio-san..."  
  
"Ah. Tokio-san is a very capable woman. I wouldn't worry about her, Naoya," Okita interjected as he leaned his head against one of the columns, fighting to keep his eyes open.  
  
"Strange. That's almost exactly what Fujita-san said," Naoya observed, squatting down beside Okita. "Well, fine. If you aren't going to help me find her, you should go to bed or something. 'Cause I'm not lying, you look like shit."  
  
"I think I will do just that," Okita replied, forcing a smile, "If you wish some breakfast, Seisaka should be in the kitchen."  
  
"No. Forget that. I'm going to find Tokio all by my damn self."  
  
Okita nodded as he stood and walked back inside. "I sincerely wish you the best of luck in your quest, my headstrong little friend. I really do."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio glanced around the marketplace out of the corner of her eye. Oh yes, the gossips were already talking. They didn't even have the decency to be subtle about it.   
  
"Tokio-saaaan," one of the shoemakers called, making no effort to hide the accusatory tone in her voice, "Who is this darling young man on your arm, hmmmm?"   
  
Tokio ignored the woman. Such an officious busybody could make up her own explanations, if she wanted. Besides, the day had turned out to have such amazingly pleasant weather, and Honjo seemed to be trying his best to keep the spirit of their excursion light.   
  
"So many people know you here, Tokio-san," Kamatari observed. "Shall we go elsewhere?"  
  
"No. No. Please don't worry about me, Honjo-san. Let's have fun today, shall we?"  
  
"Mmmm," Kamatari replied, "Yes lets!" He clapped his hands together excitedly as he ushered Tokio into a kimono shop. Well, it was never right to mix business and pleasure, but one could, at least, mix business and fashion, could they not?  
  
On the other side of the market, Meshibe Naoya was asking everyone she had ever met if they had seen Fujita Tokio in the last day. Well, she wasn't so much asking as -demanding-. And even without training in weaponry or fighting, a rabid rat could be quite frightening to behold. She'd already been thrown out of three shops for threatening their proprietors with divulging their deepest, darkest, secrets if they didn't spill the beans. Not that Tokio told Naoya all the secrets she had learned about the people in the marketplace, just -most- of the secrets.  
  
"Ohhhh Naoya-chaaaaaan," a vaguely familiar voice called. Naoya looked up to find herself staring in the face of a local shoemaker. "You're looking for Tokio-san, right? Well, I just saw her not two minutes ago down by the kimono shops and..."  
  
Before the woman could tell Naoya the rest of the details, the girl had taken off running in the direction indicated, practically knocking the older woman on her rump.   
  
"Hmph. Ill-mannered ungrateful brat!" the shoemaker decreed.  
  
Naoya wound in and out of the market's patrons, practically tripping around stalls and stumbling over children until she made it to a string of kimono shops that all sat clustered together. Looking around frantically, Naoya finally spotted the tail end of Tokio's long silk scarf pass an open doorway.  
  
"Tokio-san! Tokio-san!" Naoya cried, running into the shop and grabbing her mentor by the arm. "Thank goodness I've found you! I was so worried, and Fujita-san is worried and you have to come home right away!"  
  
Tokio, surprised to see her friend, gasped slightly as she put down a bolt of cloth that she had been holding up to inspect, revealing the man standing by her side.  
  
"Hello, Naoya," Tokio whispered. Then, turning to her companion she said, "Honjo-san, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Naoya."  
  
"Ah, what a sweet little friend you have, Tokio-san. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Naoya-chan," Kamatari pronounced, picking up another bolt of cloth. Certainly Shishio-san wouldn't begrudge him a few little expenses.   
  
Naoya's upper lip curled. Naoya-chan? Sweet little friend? "Who is -this- guy?" She scanned the man from head to toe. 'Kami-sama," Naoya thought, 'Is that a man? Even Okita-san looks more manly than this one. Geez, look at his fingernails. And he wears a bigger ribbon in his hair than I do.'  
  
"Naoya," Tokio whispered pleadingly, "Please remember yourself."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Honjo-san is..." Tokio pursed her lips together while trying to form the best explanation for the girl. "He's a friend. And he has been so kind as to allow me to stay with him while...while I... Well, his family is gone from town and he wishes companionship."  
  
"You're staying in this guy's house?" Naoya all but screamed, "Alone?"  
  
Behind the counter, the shop's owner looked on with a great deal of interest. Who wouldn't want to get some dirt on Fujita Tokio? And wasn't her husband a cop? Yes, having blackmail info on a cop's wife was just like a pass to get out of jail for free.   
  
"Well, yes, Naoya, alone. Please, won't you be so kind as to keep your voice down?"  
  
"Tokio-san!" Naoya exclaimed, pulling the cloth that Tokio was now examining from her mentor's hands and throwing it on a nearby table, "Tokio-san, you have to listen. You can't stay alone in a strange man's house. What will people say? What will people think? It just isn't done. No offense, Honjo-san, but she's a married woman. It will completely ruin her reputation."  
  
"Oh, Naoya, please don't be so dramatic," Tokio said, rubbing the end of her scarf in thought. Behind her, Kamatari giggled behind his hand. He'd ruined the reputations of a few women in his time, but never by mere proximity. Saitou Tokio had a pleasant enough face, he supposed, but she wasn't really the sort of exotic beauty that naughty romance stories were written about, now was she? Though, what would be the harm of having a few rolls on the futon with the woman? She could possibly learn something and, from the looks of the state of her marriage, it would probably do her a world of good.  
  
"I'm not being dramatic! Tokio-san, don't you see? And what if Fujita-san finds out? He'll be furious, Tokio-san. I know he doesn't always show it, but I know he loves you dearly and desperately. If he finds out about this guy, Honjo-san or whatever, he's going to kill you both. You know it's true!"  
  
"Naoya, I'm going to ask you to leave this shop, please. You are not displaying a single whit of rationality. Now, no. Please don't frown." Tokio leaned forward to cup her friend's face in her hands, "You may not understand all of this right now, but I assure you, someday you will."  
  
Naoya shook her head to escape Tokio's grasp and stepped backwards towards the door. Her eyes flared with a tsunami of anger, disgust, and betrayal. "Oi, Tokio-san, I understand better than you think." Naoya glanced at Kamatari. Had the girl been carrying a weapon, the scythe-wielding man might have taken a moment's pause to re-consider his current position. However, since she didn't, he merely stuck his tongue out at her while Tokio wasn't looking. "I understand quite well. I understand everything you tried to teach me, well, it was all a lie. You're not a lady. You're a common whore!"  
  
With that pronouncement, Naoya turned on her heel and sped out of the shop, almost tripping over several passersby who had decided to linger outside the doorway in order to eavesdrop on the juicy conversation.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Honjo-san," Tokio whispered, going back to her shopping, "Naoya can be quite...vivacious."  
  
'Vivacious?' Kamatari thought to himself, 'That's a lot like saying that Soujiro might, on a rare occasion, seem cheerful.'  
  
"It is quite alright, Tokio-san. Youth, mmm? It is a most fickle and confusing time of life, ne? Think no more on it. Now, isn't this a lovely piece of cloth here?"  
  
'Still, it is good to know that the man adores his wife, or so the kid thinks, at least. More and more interesting every minute. Who are you, Saitou Hajime, that you would love a woman yet let her leave you? That this kid would consider you a jealous man, yet you would send Tokio into the world alone? Hmm?'  
  
"Oh Tokio-san, look at this elegant tomesode," Kamatari called, "It would be most lovely on you, I think."  
  
Kamatari pulled the long garment from its place on the wall and held it in front of Tokio. The black silk draped the woman's svelte form as Tokio blushed and attempted to shake her head. It was, indeed, a fine garment, finer than any she owned. At the knee, a delicately embroidered green dragon perched on even greener clouds, curling around the length of the skirt. Tokio picked up the hem of the tomesode and gazed at it. She had to admit that even -her- exceptional ability with sewing would not match the infinitesimal stitching on the decoration.   
  
"I could not possibly purchase such a kimono," Tokio whispered in absolute awe. How had the stitching been done? Faint jealousy arose in Tokio's heart. Dropping the cloth, she turned away from Kamatari. 'Is this what it is like for an inferior swordsman to look upon the moves of a more exceptional one, I wonder? What a wretched feeling, this jealousy. Certainly, I have felt it before, when I thought Katsu was one of Hajime's old lovers. But, at that time, I would not allow myself to name such an emotion. How horridly distasteful.'  
  
"Then let me purchase it for you, Tokio-san. Besides, tomorrow I expect an important visitor for dinner, and, I'm afraid, I already know that you have nothing appropriate to wear." Kamatari said. He knew she would have to agree. If he were to have a visitor, then she would have to be dressed as a married woman, or else chance allowing the visiting party to suspect something illicit between the pair.   
  
And, besides, Kamatari wanted to make absolutely certain that when Saitou Hajime arrived tomorrow night, Tokio would be wearing an appropriate symbol of their union.  
  
"I suppose I have no choice in the matter, hm, Honjo-san?"  
  
Kamatari giggled openly as he handed the tomesode to the shop's owner. "Send this to the address on this paper." Leaning in towards the kimono vendor he whispered quietly enough so that Tokio could not hear, "And the blue one over there, as well."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Naoya secreted herself as best she could in the alleyway across from the kimono shop. The situation had, indeed, become quite dire.   
  
For the life of her, she couldn't understand what was going on today. Had all of her friends gone completely insane? First, Fujita-san had outright refused to come and bring Tokio home. And then the normally reasonable Okita-san had seemed nigh-apathetic towards their friend's plight. Now Tokio had taken to parading around town with some strange man at her side.   
  
Well, Meshibe Naoya wouldn't let this sort of thing go on! Someone had to set things straight. Someone had to have some sense!  
  
Too bad Katsu-san had passed away. She'd not have stood for this sort of thing, that was for damn sure.  
  
As Tokio and Kamatari exited the kimono shop, Naoya pulled herself from her hiding spot. 'I'll follow them. And then I will find out what is going on and put a stop to it. Obviously, Tokio-san can't be in her right mind at the moment. She's far too delicate a woman to know what she's gotten herself into.'  
  
Naoya crept through the shadows, trailing the pair all the way back to Kamatari's house. Unfortunately for Naoya, she didn't notice the even more stealthy figure that followed behind her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I thank you for the kimono, Honjo-san. How I shall ever repay you for all your many kindnesses, I do not know," Tokio whispered, patting the man's hand gently. He had offered his crooked arm to her as soon as they left the marketplace. As soon as her skin made contact with his own, Kamatari stopped in the street and peered questioningly at the woman. Keeping their eyes locked, Kamatari's free hand picked up Tokio's fingers gently and turned them over.   
  
Then he looked down.  
  
How had he not noticed the scratches which coated the bottom portion of her palm before?  
  
Tokio pulled her hand away shyly and looked at the ground as she began to walk forward once again. "I fell," she whispered.  
  
"I see," Kamatari replied, doubting that the entire story had been told. He, too, began walking again, noting that the slowly setting sun had brought with it a brusque chill that deepened with every passing minute. Already the birds were beginning to still themselves in their nests, and the crickets of the evening had begun to usurp the silence left by their winged brethren with the discordant songs of the insect world. Kamatari listened to this, along with the duel crunching sounds of his and Tokio's feet upon the road, as he contemplated the odd woman before him.  
  
"Honjo-san," Tokio finally whispered, "Have you ever loved?"  
  
"Hm?" Kamatari squeaked, being shaken from his thoughts too abruptly to form a proper lie. Besides, how could he be untrue to his feelings for Shishio, even now, even during this most important mission? "Yes. But the one I love has a burning desire that must be satisfied, a fantastic dream that must be accomplished, before rest can be had, before we can be together."   
  
'Not to mention his current infatuation with Yumi,' Kamatari added to himself, 'Which is insignificant, and will surely pass.'  
  
"And would you not do anything, anything in your power, including putting yourself in the path of danger, including sacrificing your own life, to help your beloved achieve this goal? This horrible goal which drives them from your side but which, once achieved, will bring them happiness?"  
  
"Anything," Kamatari's voice, now soft with his own deep sadness, replied, "I would do most anything."  
  
"As would I," Tokio whispered, "As would I."  
  
Far behind the pair, Naoya peeked out from behind a rather stoic willow tree and squinted her eyes. 'At least they aren't touching anymore. That's a good sign.' The teenager rubbed at her face as lethargy began to set into her body. It had been a long day, indeed, and she had run all over town. Sleep would be necessary, but tomorrow, yes, definitely tomorrow, she'd come back.  
  
In the shadows of the walls and doorways lining the street, a hidden figure chuckled as he watched the teenager turn away and head home.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"How's the boss?" Shinzui asked, half asleep, as he leaned against the wall, still eating his afternoon meal between brief naps. Across the room, Mishima Eiichiro stared out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.   
  
"Hm? Oh. He's in a foul mood," Eiichiro replied, not turning to look at the man who, Eiichiro knew, would now have bits of rice all over the front of his shirt. What a slob. No wonder Shinzui always got sent on the worst jobs.  
  
"When is he not in a foul mood?" Shinzui said with a shrug, causing several pieces of his breakfast to fall off his shirt and onto the floor. "What is it this time?"  
  
"Didn't you hear about his wife?" Eiichiro hissed, "Have some decency for heaven's sake, man."  
  
"Oh. Right." Shinzui sunk down to the floor, tired of standing. He was an essentially lazy man in life. This made him a decent employee, since he endeavored to do things right the first time, being possessed of an overwhelming loathing for having to do something twice. "If it were me, you know, I wouldn't have let her go. I'd have locked her up in the barn or something."  
  
"That is because you are, by nature, a pig," Eiichiro remarked. "And since any woman who would marry you would also have to be a pig, it makes sense that the both of you would end up in a barn."  
  
Behind the door, Saitou Hajime chuckled. Mishima Eiichiro was definitely a man after his own heart.   
  
And Shinzui. Well, didn't that ahou realize that the door between the antechamber and Saitou's office had been replaced with one specifically designed to allow sound to pass between the two rooms? What a moron.  
  
Saitou leaned forward at his desk, attempting to block out the noisy conversation in the next room, as he stared at the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk. Had it been piling up over the past two days? Who knew. That time period seemed, in his mind, to be a complicated blur of events past most comprehension.   
  
Well, at least he had finally found his shirt.  
  
And, thankfully, that rat-girl had the sense to not show up at his house this morning. That would have been most distracting, and he doubted he could go a second round with Naoya and not completely lose his temper. Women. If only they had the common decency to fight with swords.   
  
They fought more dirty than ninjas, in his estimation.  
  
Tokio. She had ninja training. She would be fine. She would be just fine. He had repeated that to himself so many times over the past two days that he suspected if he'd been a monk chanting mantras, he'd be enlightened by now.   
  
"A letter has come for Lieutenant Fujita," a young voice said.   
  
"Hm? This is marked with an old seal of the Bakufu. Where did this come from?" Eiichiro asked the young page, who just shrugged.  
  
Well, I'm not going to give it to him," Shinzui grumbled loudly, "You give it to him, Eiichiro, you're his favorite."  
  
"I'm on watch," Eiichiro stated blankly.  
  
"Someone bring me the goddamn letter!" the irritated voice of Saitou Hajime called from behind the door.  
  
Shinzui scooted into the room and placed the letter on Saitou's desk with a mumbled apology.   
  
The lanky Miburo stared at the letter for a moment and lifted an eyebrow at his inferior, who didn't appear to have the common sense to leave the room. Picking up the envelope, Saitou turned it over several times in his gloved hands, noting the decade old seal, before opening it and pulling out the enclosed missive.  
  
'My dearest Hajime,  
  
Please be present at 17 Fujomori Street this evening at six o'clock. We shall be having dinner with an acquaintance of mine who is most excited to meet you.  
  
Your Loving Wife,  
  
Saitou Tokio."  
  
Saitou's amber eyes narrowed as he crumbled the paper with one hand. Not only did his wife not use such ostentatious calligraphy, she'd never sign her name 'Saitou Tokio'. The person who had sent this letter didn't even bother to try to make it look as if it really came from Tokio. No. They wanted it to be quite obvious that they knew his secrets as well as the whereabouts of his wife.   
  
"What time is it now, Shinzui?"  
  
"Eh? Oh. 'Round four-thirty, I figure."   
  
"Hn," Saitou replied, standing up from his messy desk. Well, he'd just have to finish organizing these papers tomorrow. "I have an engagement. I'll be leaving early."  
  
"Early, Fujita-san?" Shinzui's plump brow furrowed. 'Fujita-san -never- leaves early.'  
  
"Yes. Early. Now, quit standing around in my office like some sort of useless child. I pay you to fight crime and corruption in this city, not gawk and gossip like some prattling hag."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Shinzui replied, sauntering out of the office with a shrug, "C'mon Eiichiro, lets go get some food. I'm hungry."  
  
"I'm on watch," Eiichiro stated again. "And you just ate."  
  
"What can I say? I'm a pig."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Tokio-san?" Kamatari called through the door, "Are you ready?"  
  
"I shall be in just a few minutes, Honjo-san. My apologies."  
  
"Please meet me in the teahouse beyond the garden. I'd like to show you something before our guest arrives. You know how to find it, yes?"  
  
"Certainly. Thank you, Honjo-san."  
  
A faint smile crossed Kamatari's lips. He really had become quite fond of Saitou Tokio. Perhaps if he could convince Saitou to join the Juppon Gatana, then Tokio could come along as well. They would, after all, need a replacement for Yumi. Someone who could make certain Soujiro's shirts were pressed and assist in keeping headquarters from falling into disarray. And, above all, someone he to which he could talk. A kindred spirit, if you would. And since she doted on her husband, there would be absolutely no competition for the heart of Shishio-san. Maybe this was even Shishio's plan all along. Could it be that he was already tiring of Yumi? How wonderful would that be?  
  
Kamatari stole away from the door and tiptoed down to the teahouse, noting that the sky threatened rain, but seemed unwilling to make good on such a threat. Thank goodness Houji had provided this house. Kamatari clapped his hands together like an excited child. Everything was falling into place.  
  
Inside the darkened room, Kamatari spied the other love of his life, glinting bravely even in the low light. His scythe. This one had been a present from Shishio, a replacement for the much smaller one he had carried as a young boy. And, the attached chain made it ten times as powerful a weapon. Running his fingers lightly over the wood, Kamatari sighed. Oh yes, just as Shishio-san had promised, they would have fun again.  
  
Kamatari quickly prepared the room, setting out the water and the implements for the very interesting tea that would be taking place this evening. Taking a deep breath, he lit one small well-placed lantern and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Yes. Perfect.  
  
Grabbing his scythe, Kamatari secreted himself beside the door. He felt the blood course through his entire body, almost a sexual feeling, like the power of swaying a virgin to your charms. The prospect of victory always made him feel a bit cocky. Kamatari licked his upper lip in amusement at his internal pun.  
  
Of course, wearing a new kimono never hurt his mood. The lovely blue garment he had sent over from the market place fit divinely.  
  
"Honjo-san?" Tokio whispered as she pushed open the door. "Are you here?"  
  
Quite easily, Kamatari threw the chain attached to his scythe around Tokio's neck. He reeled her in like a fish, pulling her backwards as she clawed fruitlessly against the metal constricting around her neck. Her body slammed backwards against his with a thud. Kamatari wrapped an arm around her shoulders from the front to steady the woman as he whispered, "Now, please listen close, Tokio-san. Behave as I dictate, and no harm shall come to anyone, neither you nor your husband. But, if you choose to be belligerent, and make me kill you, please know that it has been my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou pulled the scrap of rice paper from the front door of the house, rolling his eyes slightly at the hurried directives written on it.  
  
"Garden. Teahouse. Come alone."  
  
"Presumptuous, ne?" Saitou murmured to himself as he made his way through the house. Quite a nice dwelling, indeed. A few Western touches, but nothing as overbearingly showy as Katsu's house. Deciding he had a few minutes yet left until this appointment, Saitou stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a plum. Well, his whole schedule had been interrupted because of this. They owed him at least a piece of fruit, if not a limb, just for that.  
  
Stepping out onto the engawa overlooking the enclosed courtyard, Saitou eyed the small building at the very back of the property. Yes. They were both there. Well, fine. He could play this game.   
  
Walking slowly through the garden on the stone path constructed by some loving horticulturist, Saitou fingered the hilt of his katana with one hand while eating the plum with the other. The taste of cool sweetness on his tongue reminded him of one thing and one thing only, the taste of Tokio's skin. And that thought made Saitou Hajime snarl and toss the fruit aside.  
  
"Leave your katana outside, Saitou-san," a youthful voice called from inside the teahouse. "If not for your sake, then for hers."  
  
Silently, Saitou removed the sword at his side and placed it as close to the door as possible. Removing his shoes as well, he entered the building.  
  
Inside, he found three objects sitting in the lantern-lit room. Closest to him sat a round table, upon which had been placed all the necessary implements for a tea ceremony. Behind this, kneeling primly, sat his wife dressed in a dark kimono he had never before seen. A deep purple obi circled her waist, and circling the obi was the giant blade of an oversized scythe. The handle of said scythe was held by its owner, who sat even further behind Tokio, peeking around his wife's form to wiggle a set of fingers girlishly at the newcomer.  
  
"Hi!" Kamatari exclaimed, swaying from side to side a bit as if listening to music, "Won't you sit, Saitou-san?   
  
"Is this woman a friend of yours, Tokio?" Saitou asked his wife, who, at the moment, sat with her hands pressed together in front of scythe's giant blade.   
  
Tokio looked up from her lap, not appearing to be particularly surprised to see the room's newcomer, and whispered, "That is a man, Hajime."  
  
The brief dilation of her husband's pupils would have been missed by most anyone else. Could he, possibly, be amused?  
  
Saitou sat, as directed, across the table from his wife. Briefly examining her with a glance, he decided that, although there was a blade at her waist which could possibly slice her in half at any instant, he appeared otherwise to be fine. Even beneath the long bangs which framed her face, he could tell that her eyes shone with deep defiance. And perhaps, even, a modicum of her own amusement.  
  
"I'm glad you've chosen to join us, Saitou-san. You don't mind if I call you Saitou-san, do you? Good. My name is Honjo Kamatari. I am here to bring a most interesting proposition to you from my employer."  
  
"And your employer would be whom?" Saitou asked, fishing in his pocket for his cigarettes as he sat down opposite from Tokio.  
  
"Ah. His name is not important right now," Kamatari said with a small giggle. "Oh, Tokio-san, won't you make us all some tea?"  
  
Tokio nodded slowly and began to clean out the teacups sitting in front of her. The two men continued to talk as she performed her assigned duty.   
  
"So, what is this proposition?" A match added its mild illumination to the room for an instant as Saitou inhaled.  
  
"Surely, by now, a man such as yourself has heard of the strange occurrences in the south? Such a mystery. What could be happening there? Do you know what it is, Saitou-san?"  
  
"I do not."  
  
Kamatari tilted his head to the side to observe the man across the room. "Then I will tell you. My employer has taken several villages. He is a man of immense power, extraordinary strength. And he has come to put an end to the Meiji era. To restore Japan to her former glory. And you, Saitou Hajime, have been chosen to assist him."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou replied, exhaling smoke, his chiseled features not particularly changing expression. In fact, the Wolf of Mibu seemed downright bored. "Why would I do that?"  
  
"So many reasons. But, where to begin? For starters, you could exact retribution upon those who defeated the Bakufu, who slaughtered your comrades in the Shinsengumi. You could help return Japan to its rightful state, ruled by those who know the value and strength of the bushido code."  
  
Tokio poured water into three cups as the men spoke, making the tea with unfailingly deft fingers. She felt her husband's piercing gaze on her hands as she worked, watchful of her every move.   
  
"Are you saying that your employer intends to start a war?" Saitou asked the kimono wearing scythe wielder.   
  
"A war? Perhaps. War or no war, it is inconsequential. He will do what is necessary to take control of this country. What does it matter to you? Men like you thrive best in times of war, do they not?"  
  
Tokio placed one teacup on the round table and grabbed the edge. She spun the table's top slowly until the cup arrived in front of her husband.   
  
Picking up the teacup, Saitou nodded to his wife and took a sip before continuing the conversation, "Perhaps. But, men have tried before to defeat the Meiji era. Look what happened to Saigo Takamori. What makes your employer think he will succeed where others have failed?"  
  
"All eras come to an end, Saitou-san. It only takes someone who knows where to stick the knife. Even now, plans are being made that will shake this country to its very core. The mere inertia of fate is enough to insure our success. Besides, a man who can take a half-dozen towns without revealing himself to the Meiji government must be someone serious enough, ne?"  
  
Turning slightly, Tokio placed a teacup behind her, moving carefully so as not to impale herself on the scythe's blade nor spill the tea.   
  
"Thank you, Tokio-san," Kamatari said, leaning forward to take the offered cup. He drank deeply, an impish grin crossing his feminine features. "Oh, that is just wonderful, Tokio-san. On a personal note, Saitou-san, I have quite enjoyed getting to know your wife. I do hope that if you join our organization, she'll come along. And just think, should the two of you ever have children, you will have helped bring Japan into a truly magnificent era, one where your sons can hold their heads high and wield their swords without restriction, in the manner befitting true samurai."  
  
"Why does your employer, in particular, feel it necessary to remove the Meiji government?" Saitou asked, ashing into his empty teacup. The Miburo's gaze finally left his wife's hands and moved upwards, taking in the visage of his opponent.   
  
"Tragic story, really," Kamatari said with a sigh, "He once did their bidding, eliminating many obstacles in the path of the establishment of the new era. And how did they repay him? Mmmm? They decided he knew too many of their secrets and tried to kill him. Tsk tsk. Tried but didn't succeed. Such is their downfall. Now those secrets will be used against them to destroy what they have created."  
  
"So, it is revenge he wants?"  
  
"I suppose that is the one way of putting it. Another way is 'Kuni Tori'. A government incapable of killing one man isn't a government deserving to survival, don't you think? And now that man will return to remove the weakness that plagues this country."  
  
"Naruhodo," Saitou replied, sighing slightly. "And if I refuse your invitation?"  
  
Kamatari upturned the cup in his hand and swallowed the rest of the warm liquid. "Please don't do that." Setting the cup by his side, he continued, "Nothing shall happen. I shall leave here. You shall return home with your wife. If you try to follow me, I will kill you, and her. If you don't, in time, the struggle will come here, as well, and you will watch as the Meiji government collapses. Perhaps you will even fight against that collapse. But, in the end, you will fail and become a subject of the new era, or a dead man."  
  
"I have heard such declarations before. And yet, I still continue to be less than dead." Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke towards Tokio, who winced. Despite the fact that they were deep in negotiations with a possible madman, she still didn't find it proper for him to smoke indoors. "I'm afraid I have to decline."  
  
"That is exceedingly unfortunate," Kamatari replied, pouting more than appropriate for a grown man. "I do hope you will think on my proposition a bit more, Saitou-san. Should you change your mind, I'm certain you're clever enough to figure out how to find us."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Kamatari opened the shoji directly behind his back and stood, carefully tilting the scythe's blade upward against Tokio's midsection as he did so. Then, with one quick movement, the scythe-wielder pulled his weapon to the side, away from Tokio, and in the same instant, disappeared from view.  
  
Saitou Hajime did not move. He probably could have scrambled to the front shoji, retrieved his katana, and been well on the path towards tracking and killing Kamatari if he so desired.   
  
Or, he could have scooped up his wife under his arm and headed home, offering a few choice insults about the fine mess she had gotten herself into this time, and why was she always being kidnapped by cross-dressers, anyway?  
  
But, he didn't.  
  
Instead, Saitou merely quirked one eyebrow at his wife.  
  
In response, Tokio lifted her fingers to her mouth and sounded the shrillest, most unladylike whistle she could muster.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Naoya had been avoiding this trip all day. What would she say to Tokio-san? Surely there were some good words somewhere, locked in her brain. With one curled fist, the young woman knocked on her cranium in an attempt to loosen whatever knowledge might be stored therein.  
  
One foot in front of the other, Naoya made her way to the house she had tracked Tokio and Honjo-san to the previous day. Her thoughts kept her occupied, so occupied, in fact, that she didn't notice the solitary figure standing beneath a tree across the street from the house.  
  
"Naoya-chan, what a surprise to see you here," a familiar voice called as the teenager stepped towards the door. Naoya spun around to see Okita Souji step out from behind an oak tree and cross the road. He smiled gently as he looked up at the sky, "Might get some rain, don't you think?"  
  
"Okita-san?" Naoya questioned, taking in the rather welcome sight of her friend. "But...why...why are you here? And why are you wearing your swords, Okita-san?"  
  
Souji laughed, his whole body shaking with mirth. When he finally stopped, the spry man put a finger to his lips and shifted his eyes from left to right. "Mmmm, Naoya, you didn't really think that Saitou-san would throw Tokio-san out? Or that she would leave him, did you?"  
  
"Huh? I don't get it. What do you mean, Okita-san? I saw Tokio-san yesterday with some man and..."   
  
"Shhh," Okita replied, kneeling down in front of the teenager, "I'm sorry that we didn't tell you, Naoya. There merely wasn't time to explain everything properly, and Tokio thought you might end up putting yourself in danger. Besides, from what I understand, the little scene you caused in the marketplace may have actually helped us by adding to our plan's authenticity."  
  
"Plan? What plan?"  
  
"Well, I suppose it is alright to tell you now," Okita said, glancing back at the house, "Saitou-san and I had noticed that someone had been following all of us around the city over the last few weeks. Watching us. You and Tokio, too. But, we could never find them out, because they always seemed to send subordinates."  
  
A piercing whistle broke through the evening air. Okita shot up, clutching the hilt of his katana with a mischievous smirk. "Oops. I have to run, Naoya. But, you're a clever girl. You'll figure the rest out."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"More tea, Hajime?" Tokio whispered.   
  
"Aa," he replied, standing up to retrieve his katana from the porch. When he returned, Tokio was already pouring the water into the small teacups, not looking in the least bit disturbed by recent events. Sitting beside her, he took the offered cup with a sideways glance. "You didn't have any trouble, then?"  
  
"No. Did you?"  
  
Sipping his tea, he replied, "Except for a rather insistent rodent problem, and a wife who puts my shirts in the most ridiculous of places, no."  
  
"And Okita?"  
  
"He's fine. Though a bit tired from chasing you all over town, as am I."  
  
Tokio smiled and gave her husband an accusatory look, "Such complaints. Surely you can not be too worn out from such a simple task."  
  
"Not tired enough to prevent giving you a rather sound beating before I take you home. The trash bin, Kitty? I did not find that amusing. Though your antics with the teacups were humorous. What did you put in Kamatari's tea, anyway?"  
  
"Nothing fatal," Tokio whispered, a sly smile of remembrance touching her lips, "Just something to slow him down a bit. Okita-san will have no problem tracking him."  
  
Tokio put down her tea cup and took her husband's from his hands. Lifting her skirt she crawled onto his lap, straddling his knees as she bit her bottom lip lightly. "What happens now, Hajime?"  
  
"Now we wait for Okita to follow this Kamatari fellow and find out who his employer is."  
  
"That isn't what I meant," Tokio whispered. Her husband's hands, however, seemed to be paying little attention. The white fingertips of his gloves ran over the thick material of her obi. "What happens between us?"  
  
Saitou bent his head forward to touch his lips to his wife's forehead. He doubted, however, that he could stop there. Not after seven months of denying himself her embrace. No one else was in this house, anyway. So, what did it matter?  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
"What do you want now, woman?"  
  
"Are you going to answer my question?"   
  
"No," he replied, pulling her against his torso forcibly. Damned newfangled obi knots. Women did these things on purpose just to infuriate mankind. Tokio lifted one hand to bat at his long, spiked bangs, and then ran her fingers along the ridges and canyons of his face as she regarded him with mock anger.   
  
"Promise me, Hajime," Tokio whispered, pulling his hands away from her obi. "Promise me that you will never again think of me as your weakness. Promise me that you will never treat me as some delicate piece of glass which could shatter at the slightest breeze. I can weather a few cuts and bruises, Hajime. But, I fear I may not survive being too long deprived of your touch."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Tokio. I'm trying to touch you right now."  
  
Saitou caught her dumbfounded lips with his own, reeling in his amazing sensation of her diaphanous skin against his roughness. Tokio leaned into the kiss as she dropped her husband's hands, deciding instead to run her fingers through his thick hair. Pulling off his gloves while his wife's attentions were otherwise occupied, Saitou returned to his combat with the obi, deciding that, one way or another, the damn thing was coming off.  
  
As she pulled away from him, taking a much-needed breath, Tokio whispered, "Ah, now that Honjo-san is gone, you think you can do as you please, do you?"  
  
"I can and I will."  
  
Across the courtyard, Meshibe Naoya stopped in her tracks as she peered through the open shoji of the small teahouse. The appropriately nicknamed "rat-girl" squinted her beady eyes at the scene she found framed by the doorway.   
  
Like some sort of picture in miniature encircled by the garden in the foreground, Naoya watched as 'Tokio-san' and 'Fujita-san' seemed lost in each others' presence, oblivious to the world around them as they alternated between speaking, embracing, and undressing each other. Certainly, she noted, Saitou frowned just as surely as he did on any other day of the week. Still, it didn't seem as if it were a frown of displeasure or anger. It was just his way.   
  
Naoya watched for a few more seconds before turning and heading back towards the entrance of the house. A lady certainly wouldn't spy on a pair of lovers. Most definitely not. But, a lady might just pass through the kitchen on her way out and see if she should find a snack for the long walk home.  
  
'Well, maybe I'm not clever enough to understand the whole thing,' Naoya thought as she ransacked the kitchen, 'But at least those two finally got their goddamn acts together.'  
  
"I think the rat-girl saw us," Saitou blandly informed his wife as she unbuttoned his outer shirt.   
  
"Oh. My reputation is ruined," Tokio replied with false despair, leaning back and pulling her husband on top of her. "So you might as well ravage me."  
  
"Ah, Kitty," he said, throwing her obi aside, "'Ravage' is too subtle a word to express my current intent."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita Souji stood on the cliff overlooking the pathetically drab village, watching as Honjo Kamatari leaned on his scythe like a staff and slowly made his way through the perimeter fields. It hadn't been in the least bit difficult to follow the kimono-wearing man, not when he left a rather putrid puddle of vomit every few miles. Sicker than a dog, it had taken Kamatari four extra days to make it to the village.   
  
Souji made a mental note to never get on Saitou Tokio's bad side.  
  
As the scythe-wielder disappeared between ramshackle houses, Okita made his way cautiously down the cliff. The journey had been a rather pleasant excursion, barring a day or two of rain, and the ex-Shinsengumi Captain had rather enjoyed being among nature for once.   
  
After Tokio had returned home drunk, from what Okita understood, Saitou had attempted to instill reason into his wife by telling her of the mysterious entity which had been watching them as they moved about the city. Somehow, the pair had decided that Tokio's drunken ramble about Tokyo would make a perfect cover for their plan. Pretending to have been kicked out, she would wander around the city to draw out the enemy. Of course, Saitou and Okita had taken turns trailing her, masking their ki to insure that no harm would come to Tokio. In the end, it was a gamble, but better than waiting for the opposing force to attack on their own time.   
  
And everything had worked out quite well, in Souji's estimation. Few people could out think the strategies of two Shinsengumi captains and a ninja-trained woman with a penchant for poison.  
  
As Okita reached the periphery of the village, he moved northward, staying well within the tree line. It would do no good to be discovered before he had even obtained the necessary information.   
  
Each farm he passed looked bleaker than the last. Most seemed to be tended by the most wretched dregs of humanity, old men and women, or even children. Were there no able bodied men left in the village?   
  
Finally, Okita made his way into a line of bushes as he watched a young boy tirelessly break up rocks on the outskirts of a large field. The child's half-hakama seemed to be in dire need of repair, though his eyes, unlike many Okita had seen, still held some semblance of hope.   
  
"Pardon me," Okita said softly as the boy drew near. "Might I speak to you for a moment?"  
  
The boy made no show of having heard the question, continuing to break rocks as endlessly as before. After a moment, however, he stopped and pulled a bamboo canteen from his side and took a deep gulp of water.  
  
"I don't know who you are, mister," Eiji said between gulps, "But this town doesn't take kindly to strangers. If you don't leave, you're as likely to be killed as the rest."  
  
"I see." Okita replied, shrinking down farther into the bushes, "I'm with the police in Tokyo. I need to know what is going on here. Who is in control of this town?"  
  
"The police in Tokyo?" Eiji asked, leaning on his pickaxe as if taking a short break from the exhausting work. He looked up at the unforgiving sky and sighed deeply. "Do you know my brother? Mishima Eiichiro?"  
  
"Aa," Okita replied. How could he forget the rather stoic gentleman who acted as Saitou's top spy? "I know him."  
  
"Then you take this message to him, mister. Tell him that his home village of Shingetsu is being controlled by a madman named Senkaku, who works for an even madder man named Shishio Makoto."  
  
'Shishio...Makoto...' The name seemed to tug at Okita's mind, as if marked with a special tag of warning.  
  
"I will do that," Okita said, already drawing away from the field, "Stay safe, okay?"  
  
Eiji made no reply. Instead, he merely grabbed his pickaxe and went back to work. The fields had to be tilled and cleared of rocks. Even if you knew nothing would grow, even if the land turned to infertile silt, and the rains never came, you still had to plant the seeds.  
  
After all, that was what hope was all about.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Meiji 11, (1878). May.   
  
Author Notes:   
  
The original title for this chapter was "Confuse a Rat", which is actually an homage to the author "wombat", who wrote the funniest Monty Python parody ever "Ni To Iu Hitokiri". The chapter of that story "Confuse a Cat", always cracks me up.  
  
No mention of the Kenshingumi in the chapter, but, I think the characters had their minds on other things.  
  
Character Notes:   
  
Kamatari: I strayed, a bit, on my original intentions for Kamatari. But then, he is undercover for most of this chapter, so I tried to allow some of his inner thoughts to peek through on occasion to let you know that he's not acting Kamatari-like for a reason.   
  
Most of all, I don't see Kamatari in this story as a bad guy. Kinda like Soujiro, I think maybe he just needs to be set straight on a few things, maybe see a shrink or something, and he'd be really fun.  
  
Naoya: I see Naoya as kinda being vaguely Yahiko-like. Even though, if you notice, before this chapter, Saitou says very little to her directly, I think she sees him as a generally okay sort of guy. He helps her and her mother out, rescues Tokio from Ienobu. Sure, he's surly, but she's met tough men when she worked on the railroads with her brother, so I think she doesn't really "get" that she is supposed to be afraid of him. She's a teenager, anyway, and they can just stomp their feet and be persistent in that very teenager-like way. Does Saitou like Naoya? Well, I think he likes that she is a companion to his wife, and isn't as flighty as Kume.  
  
Review Notes:  
  
It was amusing to me that some reviewers were angry with Saitou for kicking Tokio out. And some were angry at Tokio for up and leaving Saitou. And some people were like: WTF?   
  
But, I am glad that my joke about the airplane tickled many fancies. I tried to come up with another good one for this chapter, but drew a blank. I thought of two, but neither one is very funny.  
  
How many Kenshins does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
  
Only one. But it will take him at least ten years to contemplate the repercussions of his actions.  
  
How many Oniwabanshuu does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
  
Five. One to screw it in, and four die valiantly protecting the first one from the resulting electrical fire.  
  
Well. Groan. Those are bad. I'm saving all the good ones for my comic story "Hitokiri Stainmaster".  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 11, which I am personally deeming "Possibly the most boring chapter ever." Your reviews made me pull myself out of the dregs of self-pity and try again! Special Thank you to: h@d0wGrl, JadeGoddess, Shimizu Hitomi (glad you liked that backstory. I think you were the only one who said they enjoyed that part), bonessasan (Were you surprised this time, or not surprised?), lalalalalalalalala, souchan, and LSR-7 (I'll have to find that and download it), Jared/Tofu (How true, indeed!)  
  
Veleda: I'm sorry I made Kamatari sick. He got a new kimono though. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.  
  
Tessira Aleyn: You know, I didn't even think about that. Maybe she only slept in trash bins behind restaurants that were closed in the evenings? Still. You would think she'd get bopped on the head a few times.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: I am very glad that you are enjoying the story. I hope this chapter didn't come out too cheesy for your liking. Actually, after reading your review I went back and changed a few passages to (hopefully) be a bit more realistic because I got a little gooey at parts. Thanks so much for your review!  
  
AiteanE: Everyone loves SPIT! Lots of Yumi-bashing from Kamatari, unfortunately. She's...not exactly...my favorite character. Oh well.  
  
jbramx2: I'm glad you liked both chapters 10 and 11. I had a feeling that chapter 11 would be a disappointment to most people after all the coolness from chapter 10. Don't worry about the Okita twins, though. They will probably get resurrected in the epilogue. Also, it is true that we don't see a lot of Battousai's victims' family and friends, except for Enishi (and Tomoe). You'd think there would be a lot more of them gunning for his head. But, some really interesting stuff is yet to come on this subplot, so I can't talk about it too much yet.  
  
darktenshi: Glad you enjoyed the joke. I thought it was so bad, I almost didn't include it. But, if you like a good groan, please check out my story "Hitokiri Stainmaster", which is replete with more puns and bad jokes than you can shake a stick at.  
  
haku baikou: Ah. Hopefully, you'll like chapter 10 better. You have a -very- good eye. I say: Trust your instincts, because you are -right- on.  
  
tesuka- chan: I think that whole line of thought, as far as Saitou goes, has been coming for a while. He's an odd man. I find it so hard to climb into his head, but that is what makes writing this story fun and challenging. Oh. Kamatari is definitely one of my favorite characters. You can go so many directions with him. My favorite portrayal that I have read recently is in haku baikou's story "Oiran".   
  
Animyth: I don't think I am familiar with "Necronomicon", well, as a con, rather than as a book. Yeah. I had to get Tokio drunk. Well. She never said that -she- couldn't drink. 


	13. Chapter 13: The River of Time

Warning: This chapter is very much rated -R-.  
  
P.S. Helpful hint: Be certain to take notice of the dates at the beginnings of the scenes.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 13 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Ten years. It's only two words, but to live it is a long time." -Saitou Hajime, Part 52, Volume Seven, Rurouni Kenshin  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kyoto - 1866.  
  
"I never really noticed before how quickly the Kamo river flows in the summertime. Rushing through and past Kyoto, as if it knows the violence here and does not wish to linger."   
  
Okita Souji knelt on the grassy bank, dipping his cupped hands into the water. The blood coating the small man's palms tinted the liquid a strange pink before Okita parted his fingers, allowing the mixture to drip into the river.  
  
"If you just close your eyes and listen, you can hear them. At first, they may seem indistinguishable from the cacophonous sound that composes the symphony of water's journey. There. Can you hear them, Saitou-san?"  
  
Saitou had to admit that, in fact, he could -not- hear whatever it was that Okita strained so valiantly to pick out from the river's noise. Nonetheless, to say so would only prolong the lecture, so the more stoic of the pair merely grunted in response.   
  
Pulling a strip of white cloth from inside his gi, Saitou halved the fabric and slid it down the length of his blade, expunging the night's gore from the tempered metal. These trips to the river had become more frequent of late, and though he would never voice his observations to the good natured Captain, Saitou knew that Okita's insistence on these short diversions had something to do with the growing sickness he so carefully tried to hide.   
  
"You see, Saitou-san, they are all here. The blood from every battle that lacerates Kyoto's streets makes its way here, after rain and snow, to the shores of the Kamo river. It wishes to move through this city and past it. And if you listen, you can hear, just beneath the crash of the waves, just beyond the currents, the hushed voices of those men who bled for this city. Once soldiers, now liberated souls, they whisper their goodbyes to the city as they travel home."  
  
The fact that Okita had his ear cocked upwards as if he really could hear something sent a vague shiver of warning down Saitou's neck. Nonetheless, the First Captain had always displayed an intermittent penchant for these types of introspective soliloquies, so Saitou put aside the very brief and preposterous thought that Okita might try to drown himself sometime in the near future. With a small sigh, Okita wiped again at his bloodstained lips and chin, and then allowed his hand to dangle in the water.  
  
"Goodbye, my friends. I'm afraid I can not travel with you, not yet. Not quite yet."  
  
As he sheathed his sword, Saitou looked up into the boughs of the tree above. From that standpoint, it appeared almost as if myriad stars had become caught in the branches, cool pinpricks of light ensnared in gnarled wooden fingers. If Okita had seen it, Saitou knew, he would have likened it somehow unto the era, or the Shinsengumi, or something else dreadfully profound. But, for Saitou, it was only what it was, an optical illusion.  
  
"Captain Saitou! Captain Okita!"  
  
Both of the Shinsengumi Captains sensed the man running through the streets towards the river long before they heard him. He appeared moments later, looking far too ragged and out of breath for Saitou's taste. Must be a new recruit, for Saitou certainly didn't recognize him.  
  
"You must come quickly, Captains, at the request of Captain Harada. There has been a most horrible battle."  
  
Okita stood, wiping his wet hands on his gi as he nodded to Saitou, whose hand had already settled on the blade of his katana.   
  
They followed the young man through the winding streets of Kyoto, past high stone privacy walls and doors locked tight against the nightly violence. The abrasive odor of blood permeated the night as they arrived at an intersection littered with Shinsengumi men, some living, and a devastating number now dead. More than a half dozen corpses lay cracked open like eggs, spilling their life into the dusty road. Limbs and organs, now separated from their masters, dotted the ground, sickening decorations to a hellish pageant.  
  
A disquiet murmur rippled through the ranks of those Shinsengumi still living, a contingent of Harada's men, as the other two Captains arrived. Harada himself, who had been leaning against a bamboo fence, pushed himself upright. "I'm glad you've both come. Damn shame. Damn fucking shame."  
  
"What happened here, Harada?" Saitou asked, peering down at a fallen comrade who no longer possessed both of his ears.   
  
"These men had been dispatched to transport some documents pertaining to the arrival of an important politician within the city. We were en route to meet up with them when we heard the screams. But, by the time we arrived, the culprit had vanished. And I say vanished, because he couldn't have left the scene more than a few seconds before we arrived, two of the men were still gasping for their last mouthfuls of air. That one, over there, managed to say one word before he expired: 'hitokiri'."  
  
Okita knelt near one of the dead, a man whose left arm had been bent at an gruesome angle, undoubtedly a painful break sustained in the battle. "What do you think, Saitou-san?"  
  
Saitou stayed mute on the subject as he stepped over one of the bodies to inspect a spray of blood on the ground.  
  
"After this long, do you think the Hitokiri Battousai has returned?" Harada asked, squatting down against the wall.  
  
"No," Saitou replied, looking towards Okita who nodded minutely in agreement, "Battousai is a killer by duty, but he stops there. This one, this killer, he revels in his profession. He could have killed all of these men cleanly, but he chose to leave us a sign of the terror he feels he is capable of exacting."  
  
"You mean there's a new assassin?"  
  
"Not just an assassin," Okita replied, lightly running his fingers over the dead man's face to shut the expressionless eyes, "A monster."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 11 (1878). May 2.  
  
The five men clustered in Okubo Toshimichi's private office all wore solemn faces, even Okita Souji. Okubo and Police Commissioner Kawaji both sat in straight backed chairs on opposite sides of the grand desk, while Saitou and Okita leaned against a wall beside a brass-decorated grandfather clock. At the door, Mishima Eichiiro crossed his arms, looking stoically resolute as he stood on watch against interruptions.   
  
"This is, indeed, grave," Okubo murmured, pressing his hands together and leaning his chin on two outstretched fingers, "None of the troops we sent have returned?"  
  
"None," Kawaji replied. "And from the positions of the towns he has already taken, we can only assume that he will target Osaka or Kyoto as soon as he feels ready, which could be any day."  
  
"Kyoto. He'll take Kyoto," Saitou said, glancing at Okita, who closed his eyes in agreement, "There would be no reason take Osaka separately. It will fall automatically if he gains control of Kyoto. No reason to fight two battles, if he only has to fight one."  
  
"Our men can't touch him, or this so-called Juppon Gatana that backs him. If this comes to a full blown battle in Kyoto, the populace will, at the very least, be terrified, and at most be lambs to the slaughter." As Okubo spoke, he turned aside in his chair, looking out the grand window of the manse into the streets beyond. "You've been quite silent. What do you think, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita's eyes remained closed during the brief pause before he spoke. But, upon opening, they crackled with an vibrant intensity that proved mildly startling to anyone who had not been acquainted with the small man during the Bakumatsu. "Revolution in the name of change is one thing, but revolution in the name of spreading fear and exacting revenge is another. We must send a man capable of killing Shishio."  
  
"An assassin?" Okubo asked, turning away from the window to look again at the two disparate figures standing against the wall. Hesitating slightly, the old politician dipped his head, almost as if regretting his next question. "You will go then, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita's fingers briefly brushed across the hilt of his katana, checking its placement both temporally and spiritually. "I'm afraid I can not. My conscience will not allow me to raise my sword in defense of this government. As for Shishio Makoto, his evil has been wrought by your own egotistical follies, by the decay and defects in your own virtues. If I were to kill Shishio, I would be putting my seal of approval upon what you have done." Looking up at the taller man next to him, he added, "Besides, I can already tell Saitou-san has a better plan, anyway."  
  
Without moving his head, Saitou's gaze shifted from Okubo to Okita. It always proved mildly disconcerting when Okita read his mind. Nonetheless, after knowing each other for almost fifteen years, it would be a dull man, indeed, who wouldn't realize that Saitou -always- had a plan. Always.  
  
"Saitou-san," Kawaji said, "Is this true?"  
  
"Yes. You won't like it. But, provided my instincts are on course, it will be our best chance to defeat Shishio."  
  
"And if your instincts prove wrong?"  
  
"A wolf's nose rarely leads him falsely, Commissioner Kawaji," came the cool retort as Saitou snapped his fingers in the direction of Eichiiro. "Officer Mishima, we're going to need the information Officer Shinzui's been collecting on the conspiracy to kill Himura Battousai."  
  
"Right away, sir."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Two men, one built lean and long like a katana, the other short and deceptively harmless looking, stood on the stone bridge overlooking one of the many tributaries of Tokyo's Kandagawa river. The setting sun, dallying in its journey behind the hills to play for a moment with the rippling waters, cast the area in a peach colored glow.  
  
"The waters flow much more quickly in April," Okita observed, speaking to his now-smoking friend, "After the runoff from the melting snows of winter." Turning to lean his back against the bridge railing, Okita continued, "I did think about it. Several times, in fact. Plunging myself into that river back then, filling my lungs with something besides pain and sickness. I thought the water would wash everything away, carry me away from my own doubt, away from the pity that became more evident every day on the faces of those closest to me."  
  
Watching a line of ash fall into the river below, Saitou's voice responded low and tenebrous, "Why are you telling me this, Okita?" His question's irritated edge came not from not from the subject matter, but from the revelation that Okita Souji would actually doubt himself. When he believed his friend dead, Saitou would often beseech the man's spirit for guidance in times of moral lassitude, because Okita Souji never doubted his direction, never disputed his own actions. To know that Souji, the prophet of certainty in virtue, struggled with his own inner dilemmas did not strike Saitou as even moderately helpful in the light of the upcoming battle.  
  
"In life, we are but mortal men, my friend," Souji said softly, "But, as soldiers we must become something transcendental. In what you are undertaking, you must have no doubts. You must continue forward and not look back until the deed has been completed and your mission accomplished."  
  
Saitou chuckled at this, the wry smile expressing genuine amusement, "Is this my pep talk, Okita? I heard you give the same speech to your men before the Ikeda-ya affair."  
  
Okita's grin and accompanying laugh bested the setting sun in glamour, "Yes, well, I gave all the other speeches to the Meiji politicians."  
  
"Hn. You'd better come up with some new material, Okita, before those politicians find out you're a hack."  
  
"Still, Saitou-kun," Souji said, becoming serious once again, though his smile did not diminish, "That time forged us, as sure and strong as the metal blades we carry. And unlike this Rurouni which Battousai has become, we can still draw strength from that era."   
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, squinting a bit as the sun dipped into the water, producing an orange line of light cut by the choppy black waves on the river. "Unless he becomes the hitokiri once again."  
  
"I'm almost jealous of you. I never got to finish my duel with the man. It seems someone stepped in right when I had him cornered."  
  
Saitou turned his head to regard the other man with mild incredulousness. "You can't be serious, Okita. At the time, you were too ill. You would have died."  
  
"Yes, but I would have taken him with me." Okita's smile faltered only minutely before he continued, "I thought it much preferable to drowning. Then, at least, my men would have had something they could hold aloft with pride, rather than have to live with the knowledge that they had followed a leader so weak he resorted to suicide to end his pain."  
  
"But, you didn't kill yourself."  
  
"And the Hitokiri Battousai didn't die either. It seems lucky for us, ne?"  
  
Neither men spoke for the longest time. Several couples passed them, crossing the bridge in their evening strolls. Young and old lovers alike traversed the old stone structure, speaking quietly to one another on all sorts of everyday topics. Their gardens. Their children. Money. Dinner. The pesky neighbors. Saitou's grip tightened on the railing as he exhaled smoke into the pristine night air.  
  
"Are you going to tell her, Saitou-kun?"  
  
"Do you expect I would lie to Tokio?"   
  
Okita pushed himself away from the stone railing and turned to face the river once again. "She'll be angry, don't you think?"  
  
"Hn. Only if I am lucky." Saitou replied, the cause of his smirk lost on Okita. Saitou dropped his cigarette into the river below, where the hiss of fire hitting water was lost in the sound of colliding waves. Okita felt the rapid change in the other man's ki before Saitou spoke again. It plunged from brisk to wincingly arctic. "Souji..."  
  
"Yes?" Okita asked, concern filling his voice.  
  
"If I...." Saitou pressed his lips together and held his head immobile, like a granite rock forcing itself not to shatter under the pressure of a sledgehammer. Okita glanced at his friend's hands, which had begun to grip the railing so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He started again, his voice as commanding as ever, "About Tokio..."  
  
"Don't worry, Hajime. If anything should happen, I will look after her."  
  
Saitou's grip on the railing eased slightly, and the blood rushed back to his hands.   
  
"Should that come to pass, tell her not to cry for me, Okita. I hate crying."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Having decided that the warmth of the evening wasn't quite enough for his taste, Snowflake curled himself into a ball at Tokio's hip. Looping her needle into the fabric draped over her side, the quiet woman's hand left her sewing to scratch underneath the fat feline's chin. Snowflake purred deeply in response, closing his eyes in dreamy pleasure.  
  
"You're much easier to please than my husband." Tokio whispered to the cat. "I suppose he is working late. Perhaps Okita-san has returned, hm? Well, lets go set out some supper for Hajime, and go to bed."  
  
As Tokio rose, she heard the distinct sound of her husband arriving home, his western shoes clacking on the engawa followed by the brief pause of their removal. The shoji opened a moment later, and Tokio greeted her husband by moving across the room to take the overshirt of his uniform and his gloves.  
  
Her husband seemingly lost in thought, Tokio did not dare disturb him to ask if he wanted dinner. Always better to merely place it in front of him in the hopes that he would eat. With this in mind, Tokio put away her husband's things and headed for the kitchen.  
  
Saitou watched his wife move about the room. Eight years they had been together now, and she still never ceased to amaze him. A rare creature, this Saitou Tokio. Any other woman would have asked him why he was late, if he wanted dinner, whether he had news of their traveling friend. Not Tokio. What she ultimately wanted from him, he had never known, but she seemed content enough with what he had given.   
  
Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, making her look even more youthful and fresh. At twenty-four, she certainly appeared more adult than she had when they met, but their vegetarian lifestyle had kept her body svelte and compact. His wife still carried herself with an air of quiet humility which shrouded the fervent dignity locked within her heart. A long beige scarf trailed down the back of her green yukata as she walked to the kitchen, each step setting off the soothing clacking of tiny beads which tipped the fringe. The noise set itself in time to the gentle sway of her angular hips as she stepped, charming him as relentlessly as the notes of a Pied Piper.  
  
Stealing silently behind his prey, Saitou stalked her into the kitchen, where Tokio began to prepare his dinner, oblivious to his presence.   
  
'What will you say, Kitty? I know you as assuredly as I know my katana, but in this affair, one that strikes so closely at the events which still haunt you, can I expect your reaction to be based on reason, rather than fear?'  
  
Saitou stepped to the side as his wife turned a bit to rummage in a cabinet for some unknown ingredient, remaining easily out of her line of sight. 'How the hell am I supposed to explain this to you?'  
  
Positioning himself only a scant foot behind his wife, Saitou listened to her breathing for only a moment before reaching out to encircle her neck with one hand of splayed fingers. Tokio inhaled deeply in surprise, turning her head to catch a glimpse of her attacker. Finding only her husband, Tokio turned back to her task, her movement limited by the strong hand stroking the underside of her chin.  
  
Leaning forward to revel in the sugary smell of Tokio's hair, Saitou spoke, making his explanation as short and precise as possible. "Okita found the man who employed Kamatari. His name his Shishio Makoto, and he was once an assassin for the Ishin Shishi. He poses a definite threat to Japan. Okubo has asked me to organize the effort to stop him."   
  
Saitou watched as his wife's hands flinched, but then immediately resumed chopping vegetables. "When will you leave?" Tokio asked, her whisper as serene as ever.   
  
"I'll go undercover starting tomorrow," he replied dryly, not particularly looking forward to dealing with this Shibumi character that Officer Shinzui had been tracking. "There is something else, Tokio. Our plan to subdue this criminal involves using Himura Battousai."  
  
Without thinking, Tokio's fingers moved towards her neck, where her husband's waiting hand caught them. His other hand slid down the length of Tokio's forearm, and by pressing lightly on the joint of between thumb and wrist, caused her grip to falter enough on the knife so he could remove it and toss it aside. Not that he was afraid she might purposefully cut either of the room's occupants, he just didn't want her to thoughtlessly drop it on her foot.  
  
Tokio stood extremely still, and if she even breathed, Saitou was unable to discern it. Finally, Tokio turned away from her cooking to search her husband's serious face.   
  
"Use him? Use him how, Hajime?"  
  
"We will use a hitokiri to kill a hitokiri," he replied, watching his wife's face struggle bravely to remain impassive. "And then I will go to Kyoto and eliminate whichever one survives."  
  
The last part he hadn't even told Okita. But, of course, once that moronic Rurouni became the Hitokiri once again, they couldn't just let him roam around Japan after his mission was completed. It was in the nature of the hitokiri to be used to kill, and Japan didn't need any such resources wandering past to tempt its unsavory elements. No, whichever of the two assassins survived, it would be Saitou's duty to destroy.   
  
Tokio's honeyed eyes grew wide, "You will fight him?"   
  
"I will most definitely fight him. First to convince him to return to being a hitokiri, and then, if necessary, once again to put him down."  
  
Tokio's face contorted as she bit on the inside of her cheeks to force herself to not say what she so desperately wanted to say. For the first time, she wanted to beg, to plead, to beseech her husband not to go. Not this time. Not to do this. Sure, she craved revenge against the man who killed her parents, but not like this. But a promise to the man before her kept Tokio's tongue bound. This would be the most treacherous and dangerous road, but she had long ago committed her life to his. Tokio knew she would wrong him deeply to not lend all that she could towards the fight he felt he must complete.  
  
In the hopes that he would not see the doubt written on her face, Tokio pressed her face into her husband's chest, coating her cheeks with the acrid odor of cigarettes, and the musky fragrance of her husband's skin beyond the barrier of his shirt. A strong and knowing hand placed itself on the back of her head, pulling her closer.  
  
"Are you angry with me, Kitty?" Saitou asked as he stroked her hair. Tokio felt his words resonate from inside his chest, vibrating her torso.  
  
"I..." Tokio looked up as she dislodged her face from his black undershirt. "I shall only be angry if you do not return to me."  
  
"Why would I not return? Surely you are not suggesting that you doubt my skills as a swordsman?"  
  
"Well, Hajime, you are getting quite old," Tokio whispered, trying to force herself to smirk, "And you let Okita's blade nick you on the neck. Right here, if I recall correctly." One dainty fingernail traced the miniscule scar that still remained from the cut, the ephemeral touch causing the hair on the back of Saitou's neck to stand on end.   
  
Saitou's eyes grew wide as he let out a sharp growl, "If I had known it was Okita -Souji-, I would have parried accordingly."  
  
"So, then, my husband is saying he was unprepared for a fight?"  
  
Tokio felt herself being lifted from the ground, the fingers of a swordsman pressing almost painfully into her ribs as her back met the nearby kitchen wall. Having turned away from the one light source in the room, a solitary lantern, Tokio found herself staring into a face hidden mostly by shadow. Save for his luminescent eyes, only the sharp edge of Saitou's jaw and the ridge of his nose remained lit. "I assure you, wife, I have enough strength and fire to take on Okita, Shishio, even Battousai. That you, of all people, would doubt me..."  
  
Sandwiched against the wall, Tokio finally found one hand and wiggled it free to reach towards the shadows of her husband's face. Her fingers brushed across his lips, stopping him mid-sentence. Her eyes reflected the lantern's light, becoming alive with the dare that tumbled from her lips. "Prove it."  
  
In that instant, all bets were off. Lips collided with lips, each of the pair demanding more of the other than they ever had before. Tongues made no hesitation as they passed the twin gates of lips and teeth, furtively searching out the taste that each, after eight years, still found so exotic. Honey and sweet brushing past the bitter tang of smoke. If her mouth hadn't been so occupied, Tokio would have smiled at her thoughts. Could one become addicted to cigarettes without ever having smoked them?  
  
Saitou shifted his hands from Tokio's ribs to underneath her hips, pulling her upwards with one movement, coaxing her legs to curl around his waist. 'Old man, indeed. Unprepared for a fight? I'll show you. I'll have you again and again tonight, until you admit that you are wrong. No. Until you beg me to stop. Maybe not even then.'  
  
Tokio's hands clawed at the back of Hajime's head, trying desperately to force him to break their kiss. She needed air, no, she needed him. At this moment, both seemed necessary for continued existence. As her thoughts became hazy, she moved her hands over his shoulders and back, tugging the black shirt free enough to run her hands underneath. Deft fingers traced the musculature of his back, only to turn her fingernails into daggers a second later, ripping them down his spine.  
  
This, it seemed, proved enough to cause her husband to instantly reconsider his assault on her lips, as he emitted a snarling groan and ground his hips against her own. Tokio's head hit the back wall, reeling from the sensation.   
  
"Hajime. Your...katana. Perhaps you should...remove it, mmm?"  
  
Dipping his head to ferociously bite at the junction of her ear and neck, Saitou guided Tokio's arm to his left hip before growling into her ear. "Its in the other room."  
  
Tokio would have made a reply, but found herself speechless as her husband had somehow untied the thin belt of her sleeping yukata, and now brushed his thumb across her bellybutton, momentarily fascinated by the small divot in her stomach. Tokio squirmed, covetous of his touch, his skin, rapaciousness overtaking her body so completely that she yanked at his shirt haphazardly, trying fruitlessly to remove it. Deciding the damn thing wasn't coming off without his assistance, Tokio gave up on that project and tried his belt.  
  
"Greedy little Kitty, aren't you?" he taunted, "No wonder the damn cat is so fat, he takes lessons in gluttony from you."  
  
"And who, exactly, do you think -I- learned it from, Hajime?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio's eyes rolled back into her head as her neck arched. Good god. Where the hell was she? Melting. The world had melted away only to be replaced with a pulsating white light which sent delectable shocks of pleasure through what -might- be her body. Excruciating bliss, which at each turn stormed through every nerve she possessed, had caused a prolonged incoherence.   
  
And then, a face. Maybe not a face that others would ever deem handsome. Not pretty and smooth, like Okita's face. No. Jagged and irascible, with eyes that scrutinized her every whispered whimper. Hajime. -Her- Hajime. His mouth caught in a roguish smirk of victory, her husband's fingers brushed back and forth against her lips, as if physically able to catch his own name as it issued forth between quick breaths.  
  
"Hajime..."  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"I have something I...have never told you. And I don't want you to go...until you know." Where she found the strength to move her arm, Tokio had no clue, but she did. Placing it aside his face, Tokio regarded the man to whom she had become forever entwined.  
  
Above her, Saitou shifted his weight in a way that made Tokio gasp. "Well, what is it?"  
  
"I just want you to know that I love you."  
  
The smirk on Saitou's face seemed to fade, only to be replaced with a rare smile, one not laced with disgust, or sarcasm, or condescension. Just a simple smile, as small and fleeting as it was, a gift that filled Tokio's heart with so much joy she found herself terrified. Overwhelming happiness had never, exactly, been her forte.  
  
"I know, Kitty, I know," he murmured, leaning down to touch his forehead to hers. Their bodies, joined together in sacrosanct union, craved each other only a fraction as much as their twin stoic hearts. As the movement of Saitou's hips deigned to reply to his wife what words could not form, Tokio placed the lightest of kisses on his cheek.  
  
"Yare yare, why did it take you eight fucking years to tell me?"  
  
A tremor of silent laughter shaking through Tokio's body, she replied, "I didn't want to make a fuss."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou sat on the edge of the futon, watching the sleeping form of his wife talk to herself in the gathering pre-dawn light. He'd only slept an hour, but if he knew Tokio, she'd be sleeping well to noon. After all, he had been a bit hard on her, turning cry after whispered cry of "No more!" into tear-filled begging for just the opposite. Yup. He had definitely won. Hadn't he?  
  
Goddamnit, he needed a cigarette.  
  
As he drew the soothing smoke into his lungs, the upcoming mission began to percolate back into his mind. The mission. That was, after all, why their night of lovemaking had been so passionate and prolonged. Though neither husband nor wife would put voice to the fear, both knew that the night could be their last. And, neither wanted to waste a moment of the unsaid goodbye.  
  
Tokio sighed in her sleep and turned onto her side, her arm seeking someone who sat just outside of her reach. After searching in vain for the warmth of the body she sought, one of Tokio's eyes opened sleepily to find her husband smoking, in, of all places, their bedroom.   
  
"Won't you come back to bed, Hajime?"  
  
"No," he replied, "It is time for me to go."  
  
Tokio rubbed at her face, trying to force it awake, "Shall I get your things?"  
  
"No, Kitty," he murmured, brushing some hair out of her face with one gloved hand. He'd already gathered the few things he would need. An extra uniform. His katana and concealed swords. The western pocket watch that Tokio had given him, but which he never wore due to the fact that it might get broken if an unexpected fight were to arise. "Go back to sleep."  
  
As he rose, Tokio watched her husband walk towards the bedroom's shoji. He paused only for a moment, forcing himself to not look back, to say the words they always uttered upon parting. "I shall return."  
  
He waited only long enough to hear his wife's whispered reply.  
  
"I shall be waiting."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 11 (1878). May 7.  
  
The evenings' springtime rain had left the city smelling clean, though Saitou knew in but a day's time the resulting puddles would turn foul with mold and refuse, a smell he would now forever associate with this Shibumi fellow. That man oozed rank foulness from his pores, spending every waking moment trying to claw his way to the top of the dog pile.   
  
Nonetheless, as of yet, Saitou had not been able to discover from whom Shibumi was taking his orders. That annoyed him. It annoyed him quite a bit.  
  
Saitou stood for a moment under an easement, watching the intricate dance of brightly colored umbrellas moving through the marketplace as the last drops of rain fell to earth. He leaned against the outer wall of an old shop, his torso half hidden in the shadow of the awning above, contemplating his next move. Shibumi wanted him to kill Himura as quickly as possible, but he had decided upon a less expedient affair. Best to show Shibumi some progress by visiting the dojo whilst Himura was out, and at the same time leave Himura enough evidence to make him grow eyes in the back of his head. Hitokiri eyes.   
  
Akamatsu was already getting nervous, Saitou could tell. That impatient little insect. All it would take would be time, and Akamatsu would come crawling in, begging to fight Himura himself.  
  
"Hey there, Sonny. Say, why don't you have a seat? You may think this rain is about to let up, but my old knees tell me otherwise."  
  
Saitou hadn't even noticed the ancient woman who had shuffled out of the shop. She lowered herself carefully onto an old chair, and began an elaborate process of re-arranging her shawl.   
  
"No thanks, I'll stand."  
  
"Not me, not me, not me," she mumbled, her gnarled fingers shaking as she pulled a section of her cowl over her head. "Been done too much standin' already in m'life. Ready for some sittin', I am. Say, you're a policeman, arentcha? My boy's a policeman out in Kyoto. I keep tellin' him he works too hard, but he has that little wife of his to take care of now. She's in a delicate way, you understand?"  
  
Deciding that he could not escape conversation with this old bat without walking into the rain and chancing his cigarette being extinguished, Saitou grunted a reply, "So ka? You must be proud."  
  
"Yup. Just wish my old man had lived long enough to see his grandchildren, you know? Died in the Boshin War. Told him he was too old to go a'fightin' anymore, but he never did listen much to me. Whelp, not me. I gotta get m'self to Kyoto to see that grandbaby."  
  
Saitou's eyes flickered towards the entrance of the shop. Inside, he could see the outline of racks upon racks of candies, bins of sweets waiting for the children who never came around anymore. And then he realized why he hadn't immediately noticed the old woman, why he had come to rest against this particular building of all the buildings in the market.  
  
The woman, and her shop, smelled exactly like Tokio.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
May 10. Morning.  
  
"Tokio-san! Tokio-san! Fucking hell, Tokio-san!"  
  
Naoya ran through the house on Taito street like a diseased rat looking for a porthole to jump off a sinking ship. The clatter so startled Tokio that she dropped one of the wagashi she had been placing in a box, causing the sugary confection to shatter on the floor.  
  
Snowflake eyed the dropped food and darted quickly from his perch in the corner in an attempt to supplement his dinner. Unfortunately, all he found were the waiting arms of Tokio, who hefted the obese animal upwards one second before Meshibe Naoya came screaming into the kitchen.  
  
Tokio blinked, and waited patiently for Naoya to compose herself. The teenager took several breaths, knowing that the look on Tokio-san's face meant that ladies did not shout, especially indoors. Finally, Naoya said, "The horse is missing. So's the cart."  
  
Tokio tilted her head to the side, not exactly understanding what her young friend meant by the statement. Hadn't she tied Stormy up to the post last night? Yes. And the cart would certainly be in the side yard, where it always was. Wouldn't it?  
  
"What do you mean?" Tokio whispered.  
  
"I mean they are -gone-. Not there. No longer in the places they should be. I think you've been robbed, Tokio-san."  
  
Tokio allowed Snowflake, who had been wiggling in her arms in a desperate attempt to get free, to fall to the floor. The cat landed gracefully, despite his weight problem, and haughtily sauntered past Naoya into another room.  
  
Taking her scarf off the peg on the kitchen wall, Tokio deftly wrapped it around her neck. Motioning for Naoya to follow, the two stepped outside, walking quickly around the side of the house to where the cart usually rested when not in use. And, in fact, it was missing. The only evidence of its existence were two deep ruts in the ground.   
  
The horse, too, no longer appeared to be tied to the post. Tokio ran her fingers along the length of the wooden fixture, seeking cracks, breaks, or other explanations for the animal's disappearance. Still, it would be ridiculous to assume that the horse would affix -itself- to the cart, open the side gate, and take off for places unknown.  
  
Exasperated, Tokio put her hands on her hips. 'Horse thieves! In Tokyo, no less! How utterly disconcerting. Now the day shall be a loss. I suppose I shall have to go to the police station and make a report...'  
  
"Fujita-san will be peeved," Naoya observed.  
  
"Peeved?" Tokio asked, the girl's diction drawing attention momentarily away from the crime scene, "Peeved, Naoya, are you certain? Peeved and not, perhaps, 'pissed'?"  
  
"Nope. Definitely 'peeved'. And maybe 'vexed', as well."  
  
The ripple of impressed amusement which fluttered across Tokio's brow was not lost on the younger of the two women. Tokio crossed her arms and tapped her two fingers lightly on her forearm in thought. "I suppose they took the bridle, too. But, how? Everything was locked in the shed."  
  
Naoya shrugged and walked over to the small outdoor shed and poked at the door. Finding it unlocked, the teenager stepped inside, only to startle Tokio once again with her exclamation. "Oi, Tokio-san. There's a note! And it is addressed to you!"  
  
Naoya re-appeared holding a bulging white envelope. This she handed to Tokio, who held it up in the morning sunlight to read the word written in the exacting calligraphy she knew so well.  
  
"Tokio."  
  
It couldn't be.  
  
Opening the envelope, Tokio found a short unsigned message inside, as well as a thick brass key. The note read:  
  
"Kitty,  
  
Had need of the horse and cart. Use this instead."  
  
On the back of the yellowed paper was an address.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
May 10. Afternoon.  
  
"Sleep."  
  
Sagara Sanosuke's head hit the dojo floor with a sickening thud. Saitou stood, looking at the kid. He wouldn't be getting up for a while. And the wound in his shoulder would definitely serve a dual purpose, both alerting the Battousai to Saitou's presence, and dissuading the damn ahou from following Himura to Kyoto. That was all he needed, some bratty kid distracting Battousai -and- getting himself into trouble.  
  
Sagara was, after all, an innocent. A complete idiot, but innocent. And, disturbingly, he rather reminded Saitou of himself at that age. Impetuous. Idealistic. Trouble waiting to happen. If the moron knew what was good for him, he'd stay right here in Tokyo.  
  
Unfortunately, morons hardly ever possessed such foresight.  
  
Saitou toed the kid's uninjured shoulder, and Sanosuke let out an unconscious grunt. Yeah. He'd live. No vital organs struck. Eiichiro had been spying on the dojo for two days straight. If his information was correct, and it always was, the dojo's residents had only gone to lunch. They'd be back soon enough.  
  
Shrugging, Saitou turned towards the door of the dojo and headed back into the sunlight, offering some parting words of advice to the unconscious kid. "Learn how to dodge, idiot."  
  
Speaking of people adept at dodging a punch, Tokio would probably have discovered some missing items by now. Ah, to see the look on her face. But, oh well. At least it would keep her busy. And a busy Tokio wouldn't have time to brood.  
  
Leaving the dojo by the same way he came, the front door, Saitou turned down the road and headed back towards the inn across the street from police headquarters. His concealed sword lay in two pieces back in the dojo, and he really didn't feel like walking around town weaponless any more than necessary.   
  
Nonetheless, everything was falling exactly into place.  
  
He'd even sent that pig Shinzui on the most ridiculous mission ever: Escorting a wrinkled old lady, a cart full of her belongings, and a horse all the way to Kyoto. Sure, he -did- need the spy to be in Kyoto, but the thought of Shinzui having to put up with that crotchety octogenarian for a week or more also happened to be highly amusing.  
  
Almost amusing enough to fully justify the costs that giving her the horse, cart, and escort, didn't cover.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
May 10. Afternoon.  
  
Naoya picked up a small box of imo kinsuba from the shelf and blew lightly on the paper lid, causing a cloud of dust to take flight. After coughing a bit, the young woman opened the paper lid of the box and poked indelicately at the desiccated tea cakes.  
  
"It's...it's a confectioner's shop, Tokio-san."  
  
Tokio, who had been quietly peering around the antiquated shop, had, indeed, already come to this conclusion, by virtue of the fact that she had the foresight to read the horribly faded sign over the door. The door to which she now held the key.  
  
"Hello? Is anyone here?" Naoya called, wandering into a back room.   
  
Tokio shook her head slightly at her friend's antics and examined the room. Quaint, certainly, and in desperate need of cleaning and repair. Shelves tilted at awkward angles, threatening to spill dusty packages of festival sweets. Bits of cobwebs hung haphazardly from the ceiling beams, as if someone had had enough care to swat down the spiders, but not quite enough energy to scrub away the residual evidence of their existence. Glass and porcelain jars of candies had become smudged with the grime of a thousand handprints. Even the walls appeared to be caked with the a sticky residue of airborne sugar mixed with dirt.  
  
"Oi, Tokio-san, there's all sorts of stuff back here. Paper and boxes and jars and ribbons and stuff. And a big pantry and an oven..."  
  
Opening a neglected package of pumpkin-flavored candies wrapped lovingly in pink paper, Tokio popped one of the sweets into her mouth. A bit stale, but still tasty. Where exactly was the person who had made all these treats? Fingering the key in her hand Tokio turned to look out the door, through sparkling strips of dust, into the marketplace beyond.   
  
'Hajime. That man, that confounded man. How did he...'  
  
Well. It would just have to remain a mystery until he returned.   
  
"Wow. I don't think this oven has been cleaned since before I was born. I can see clear through to the Tokagawa era," Naoya called from the other room.  
  
Tokio wrapped her arms around herself. Hers. A shop of her very own. Her mind felt blank with wonder, consumed by awe. As Naoya finally emerged from the back, Tokio reached behind a counter and picked up a rickety broom.  
  
"Come, Naoya, we have a lot of work to do."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 11 (1878). May 11. Evening.  
  
A barrage of gloved fists pummeled into the gut of Himura Battousai, causing a small jet of blood to issue from the small man's mouth.   
  
Behind the pair, near the door, the other dojo residents looked on with mortified awe. The fight had gone on and on, through the stabbing of the small rurouni, through the breaking of Saitou's katana. Himura had even landed one of his famous Hiten Mitsuruugi Ryu moves on the back of Saitou's head, and still the two men were fighting.   
  
It didn't seem likely that they would stop, not now, not until one of them was dead.  
  
But they had fought, not only with katanas, but also with words, with ideals. Like a debate turned riotous, neither man wished to back down from his point of view.   
  
That is, until the Battousai proclaimed exactly what Saitou wanted to hear. Himura intimated that he would kill the other man. -Kill- him. For Saitou this, added with the sharp gleam in the redheads eye and the sudden chill in his ki, was enough proof that the Hitokiri yet lived inside the rurouni. Still, though he had suspected that to be the truth, it had an effect on him more powerful than he expected. Almost instantly, he had mentally re-written his plan. Kill Battousai now, and then kill Shishio himself. Sure, it might take more effort to track down the other hitokiri all alone, but it wouldn't be impossible.   
  
The urge to finish the decade old duel coursed through Saitou's veins. To finish it for Okita. To finish it for Tokio. And most of all, to finish it for himself. This should have ended long ago, in the streets of Kyoto, with Battousai on the end of Okita's blade, and Okita on the end of Battousai's. But he had intervened. He had stymied fate. And now it was time to finish things.  
  
Whipping off his jacket, Saitou caught Himura around the neck and lifted the delicate man into the air, pulling tightly at either end of the fabric. Breaking his neck would be a fitting end, a proper punishment for the wound Battousai had inadvertently caused Tokio. Yes. Let the fabric cut through his neck, through the very bone beyond.   
  
That is when Saitou felt something hard connect with his chin.  
  
The two figures went flying apart, both coming to land sprawled several feet apart from one another, breathing heavily. Saitou wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to figure out what happened.  
  
That damn iron sheath. How stupid of him to forget. Well, it didn't matter now.  
  
"Its time we finished this," Saitou said, pulling himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving his opponent.  
  
"Yes," Himura agreed, ignoring the wound in his side as he, too, stood.  
  
Both men let out terrific shouts as they flew at one another, each intending to slaughter his opponent as quickly as possible. No one in the dojo drew a single breath, as they waited, transfixed, for the inevitable.  
  
"Stop!"  
  
The single word pierced the air like a bullet. Both men froze, their eyes darting towards the doorway. A man in police uniform stood there, shouting angrily at the pair.  
  
Commissioner Kawaji looked, not 'peeved', no, definitely 'pissed'.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 11 (1848.) May 14. Afternoon.  
  
"Oh, Tokio-san, please, please, no more," Souji squealed as the smirking woman placed yet another helping of yokan in front of him. Tokio crossed her arms and shook her head. Yes. He was going to definitely have to try this batch, too. If he didn't, there was no telling when she'd talk to him again. As Souji dipped his finger into the dark pudding, he said, "You're trying to fatten me up to kill me, aren't you? Please, Tokio-san, I don't want to end up in cakes. I'm far too pretty to become a teatime delicacy."  
  
As Okita batted his eyelashes in a mock plea for his life, Tokio tittered silently. Well, maybe she had been forcing a little too much food down his throat this afternoon.  
  
Naoya's dust-ensconced head peeked out of the doorway and shot a glare at Tokio, and then at Okita. "You're a strange little man, Okita-san. You sure you didn't get bonked on the head or something during the Bakumatsu?"  
  
While Tokio's attention was turned away, Okita deftly flipped his plate to the side, causing the shaped blob of pudding to fly into the air and land somewhere on the roof of the shop. Naoya hid her raucous amusement by ducking back into the shop to ostensibly continue sweeping.   
  
When Tokio turned back around, she found Okita's plate to be empty. Seeing the look of confusion on his friend's face, Okita endeavored to turn her attention away from stuffing him full of sweets before she decided to bring out something -else-.  
  
"I'm glad I came by," Okita said, moving a nearby stool closer to Tokio, to offer her a seat. "We haven't really had much of a chance to see one another since I left to follow Kamatari, hm?"  
  
"Its quite alright, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, taking a seat next to her friend, "I know how busy you are. Though, I must wonder how you knew where to find us this afternoon."  
  
"Aha. Yes. Well, one only has to follow the trail of sugar-poisoned children lining the streets of Tokyo to find you, Tokio." Okita replied, dodging the truth. Both of them knew, of course, that Saitou had told Okita where to find Tokio, but neither really wanted to bring it up. In fact, Saitou had come by Katsu's manor early two mornings previous.  
  
And he had left only a half-hour later, with Okita's katana.  
  
Somehow, Himura Battousai had succeeded in breaking Saitou's sword clean in half. But, Souji didn't much mind lending his famed katana to his friend. Not for this, not when Saitou had revealed that he would likely be using it to kill the man who had been a rival to them both.  
  
"You're a horrific liar, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, looking out into the bustling marketplace, her face as impassive as ever. "I take it he hasn't left the city yet, then?"  
  
"No, not yet," Okita said softly, "Tomorrow or the day after, most likely."  
  
There was, of course, so much more to be told. But, Saitou had sworn Okita to not breathe one word about the duel with Himura Battousai to Tokio. Knowing would definitely only cause her to worry.  
  
"Besides, I'm a fantastic liar. I made you think I liked all your sweets, now didn't I?"   
  
Tokio pursed her lips and swatted gently at her friend's shoulder with the back of her hand.   
  
"Itai! Itai!" Okita exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder as if truly hurt. He called to a passing marketgoer, "Did you see that? Don't come here. This shop sells only abuse! They lure you in with sugar, and then they beat you up!"  
  
The market patron only shook his head sadly and walked on.  
  
"What are you going to call the place, Tokio-san?"  
  
Tokio pressed her fingers to her lips in thought. She hadn't really considered that the shop would need a name. But, once one popped into her head, she knew she wouldn't be able to think of anything better. "Snowflake Sweets", Tokio whispered, a small smile crossing her face as she thought of her pastry-obsessed pet back home.  
  
"Well, Madame Proprietor of Snowflake Sweets, why don't I come by this evening and take the three of us to dinner to celebrate, mm?"  
  
"Yes!" Naoya called, poking her head out the door once again, "Yes, please, Tokio-san? I could wear that new kimono that you made me. It is far too nice to wear for everyday. Please can we go?"  
  
Tokio looked back and forth between the two faces, knowing that both of her friends were trying their hardest to distract her from thinking about her husband. 'There really isn't any need for them to be so worried,' Tokio thought to herself, 'I know he will be fine. He promised he would return to me. He promised. I must have faith in him.'  
  
"Very well," Tokio whispered. "We'll go. Thank you, Okita-san."  
  
Naoya showed her approval by doing some sort of odd dance step with the broom. But, Okita merely smiled and stood, "Well, then. I should go. I have some things to take care of before tonight."  
  
The trio said their goodbyes. Naoya and Tokio headed back into the shop to continue cleaning and repairs as Souji disappeared into the marketplace.  
  
Okita Souji walked through the streets of Tokyo at a leisurely pace. A remarkably nice day, Seichii certainly would have written a lovely poem about it. But, then, Seichii could write about anything and make it interesting, grass growing, oddly shaped clouds, a child's dimples. Anything. And he'd make it inspiring just by virtue of the fact that he described it so clearly. You could fold up one of his poems, put it in your gi, and no matter where you went, if you read the poem again, you were right where Seichii placed you.   
  
Seichii. Had it been so long since his twin died? Even now, Souji felt as if he could still sense his brother's presence. As if Seichii always stood just right outside of his field of vision, watching Souji's every move, reading his every thought.   
  
Sometimes, it tore at his heart, being two men, following two paths at once. To remain true to his Shinsengumi ideals, but also honor his brother's wishes, his sibling's life seemed truly difficult at times. No man could serve two masters for long, and remain unchanged.  
  
Okita stopped on the stone bridge where, only a few days before, he had spoken with his best friend. Reaching into his gi, Okita took out a small hand-bound book and opened it. Not that he really needed to read it to know what it said, he'd read it so many times that he had every word memorized. Every swish and stroke of his brother's handwriting had long since been imprinted on his mind. The poem that Seichii had written for him right before he'd left to join the Shinsengumi. They had gone to the river near Mibu, and spent the whole afternoon together. Souji had carried the poem everywhere since that day his brother died, and had even gotten it bound to keep it preserved.   
  
"The river flows so quickly now  
  
That spring has come again.  
  
It journeys without memory   
  
Of joy, of loss, of sin.  
  
And in the water's cool embrace,  
  
I lose myself once more  
  
Like a child that time forgot  
  
A swordsman nevermore."  
  
Souji found himself shaken from his reverie by a great commotion traveling across the bridge. A boy ran haphazardly through the street, tossing papers into the air, yelling at the top of his lungs. Tokyo's citizenry grabbed wildly at the papers, some breaking into tears, the others into obvious hysterics.  
  
As the boy ran closer and closer, Souji tilted his head to make out what the young man was saying.  
  
"Extra! Extra! Governor Okubo has been assassinated!"  
  
Souji grabbed one of the fluttering papers out of the air. His hands shaking, he read the hastily-written article as his legs gave out beneath him. On his knees, his hand went to his mouth as he struggled to make out the words.  
  
Governor Okubo was dead.  
  
'Oh Seichii. What does it mean? What does it mean for us?'  
  
Okita caught a glimpse of a sparkle of movement right outside of his field of vision. Looking to the side, he watched as paper after paper hit the water below, drifting quickly downstream on the springtime current, the ink becoming rapidly blurred by the river's touch.  
  
And then Okita saw what he knew he could not have seen, a rapid flash of coppery orange darted around one of the papers. The tiny fish was motionless only for an instant, and then disappeared into the murkier depths of the water below.  
  
"The river of time flows quickly, Souji," his brother's voice seemed to say, "No matter the season. A man can stand in the shallows and watch, or he can build a dam to irrigate many fields."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: The boy from Shingetsu makes a journey to Tokyo. The battle with Usui. Etc!  
  
Author Notes: Sorry this chapter took so long. Romance scenes take me FOREVER to write, because I have very little experience writing that genre. And I don't want it to end up on the side of lemon, but don't want it to be -too- warm and fluffy either. I apologize if I ended up doing either and offended anyone's sensibilities in one direction or the other. But, I did think the extended romance scenes were important at this part of the story.  
  
This chapter doesn't have much of a cohesive original plot. And the story won't really begin to have individual "arcs" again until after Kyoto is finished. I hope you will bear with me during that time.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:   
  
Ok. I am absolutely -not- going to re-tell every scene that Saitou is in. As you can see, I completely skipped the part where he kills Shibumi and Akamatsu. I will, however, re-tell bits which a) are intrinsic to the story of H&T, or b) I have something to which I need to add. For instance, I'm going to completely leave out the part where Saitou fights Sanosuke the second time (in front of Katsu's flat). I'm also probably going to leave out most of the Rengoku stuff, because it isn't pertinent to H&T. I suspect that if you have read this far into the story, you're fairly familiar with what happens during the Kyoto arc, and I feel I would be mistreating you (and myself) to re-hash every little scene.  
  
I did, as you see, leave in a section of the Kenshin/Saitou fight, because I think that fight is fairly important to both stories, and I would be remiss if I didn't at least -mention- it.   
  
Obviously, as far as the anime goes, we are now at the end of episode 31 (or volume 7, if you prefer the manga).   
  
I wanted to mention that I took the quotes from the characters from the manga translation that I use, rather than from the anime subtitles.   
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Shishio Makoto: While not appearing in this chapter, he does slaughter a half-dozen Shinsengumi in the first scene. I made him pretty bloodthirsty, probably even more than he needs to be. I just couldn't stop thinking about the scene where he actually -bites- a chunk out of Kenshin. I mean, that is pretty gruesome.  
  
Okita Souji: He is in this chapter a lot, so I thought I would say a few words. The "River of Time/Building a Dam" stuff may not make as much sense now as it will in a few chapters. I also like how Okita can be very serious around Saitou, but then turn around and be a goofball around Tokio. I think he really understands what it is that people need to hear, and that is one of the things which would have made him a good Shinsengumi captain.  
  
Saitou Tokio: Should she have, more properly, gone into a rage when her husband told her he was going to fight Battousai? I don't know. I just can't see Tokio doing that. I tell you now, I was stuck on her reaction for two days straight, and I still don't think it came out quite right.   
  
Saitou Hajime: Ok, I didn't have him help an old lady across a road, but close enough. At least he had alternative motives. The man -always- has alternative motives.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Well, I was feeling pretty down after those last two chapters. They just really didn't come out at all like I had hoped, and I thought you would all come and hang me from a tree for being such a bad author. I think I may have lost a few readers, and rightly so!   
  
But then so many of you wrote me, and encouraged me, and for that I am highly thankful. I'm glad so many of you are sticking with the story, even when the quality is less than usual.   
  
So, an extra special sincere THANK YOU to reviewers: The Bloody Queen of Hearts, Wolfgirl (glad I didn't disappoint), Jared/Tofu, conspirator (glad you didn't think I was stretching too much with the Shishio/Saitou connection), JadeGoddess (yup, just an act!), me me me and only me, and Youkai Girl.   
  
fujifunmum: Yeah. I had to do the wacky time jump because the story's timing got off. Originally, I only meant it to be 2 months. (But in reality, it works out to actually be an entire year that I skipped, even though I said it was only 7 months.)  
  
bonessasan: Chuckle. I don't think I would -ever- let Tokio serve me any food. As for Naoya, I guess he thinks of her a bit like a daughter, maybe. No, maybe more like an annoying niece. She's rough around the edges, but family nonetheless.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: I think you are right that I didn't make a lot of things very clear. Let me see if I can explain a bit what I was thinking. I think maybe this chapter will have to be re-written some, eventually. Kamatari was keeping Tokio around because he was using her to get information about her husband. He wanted to know where Saitou stood on the Meiji era, and basically what sort of man he was altogether. He also uses Tokio to get Saitou to come to him. Kamatari thinks that Tokio ran away from Saitou possibly after a fight (which he believes the scars on her hands confirm), and that Saitou doesn't know where she is. Now, as to why he sets up the negotiations as he does. Kamatari -does- need insurance that Saitou won't attack and -jail- him the minute he finds out that Kamatari has something to do with the missing police officers in the South. Plus, it is a tactic. Threaten someone Saitou cares about, and then, to show how benevolent he is, Kamatari spares her. Saitou actually uses the same sort of tactic when he enters the Kamiya dojo. He tells Kenshin that he -could- have killed Yahiko and Kaoru, but he -didn't-, which makes Kenshin have to reconsider thinking about Saitou as purely a bad guy.  
  
LSR-7: Yeah. She got drunk on her own and stumbled home. Then, after Saitou poured water on her, he told her that they were being watched and followed in the city, and that she had put herself...and all of them...in danger. After that, they came up with the plan.  
  
kakashi-fan: I hope this chapter explains why Okita didn't go with Saitou to Kyoto. He has some bizarre logic, but I think somewhere inside, Okita's pretty much thinking: Hey, you guys did this to yourselves. You did this to Japan. If I fix it -for- you, then I'm saying that what you did was okay.  
  
AiteanE: Oh no! Throwing up at the grocery store is -not good-. Sometimes I get a bit queasy going to the mall. All those people make me dizzy. Yikes. (I'm a bit of a hermit.) I don't know how Saitou does that with his hair. My hair certainly doesn't do that. But then, if you really think about it many of the RK characters have physics-defying hair. And, lets be frank, without his ponytail, Kenshin has a mullet. There. I said it. He's a mullet-boy.  
  
ccs_lover: Hm. I think you might have missed chapter 10! It turns out that Souji was just pretending to be his twin brother.   
  
tesuka- chan: Yeah. I had a lot of fun writing from Naoya's point of view in that chapter. She's such a little spitfire. I'm not certain how I write so quickly either. Sometimes I sit down at 5 and then I look up and the clock says 11. I just lose track of time when writing. Bizarre.  
  
Charmed-Anime: Hope you liked the S&T scene!  
  
eriesalia: Thanks for reviewing! Hey now, he doesn't -always- call her ahou. :D Actually, if you ask me, I think -Tokio- won the "battle" this time around, even though Saitou thinks he did. Anyway, I don't think that Saitou would have allowed Tokio to participate if he didn't think that he or she could completely control the situation. Plus, the options weren't very good. If they didn't find out who was following them, they could have been attacked at some random time, when they weren't on their guard. Very astute observation about the children, though!!  
  
Animyth: There are some chapters after the Shishio arc. I was originally thinking I could get this story finished by chapter 15, but now I am hoping for 20. I guess I am just too longwinded.  
  
tgrlily8701: I don't really have writer's block on Hot and Cold. I just would prefer to finish this story first, since I am closer to the end, and if I stop, I don't know if I will ever come back to it. But, there shall be more Hot and Cold after H&T is finished. :D   
  
Catnip: I'm glad you like the chemistry! I never know if it works out at all, because I am a really bad judge of how cheesy romance might look.  
  
Tree Nymph: Glad to have you on board. Hope you enjoy the next few chapters. Oh! Feel free to point out the typos or grammatical errors. I type all of this from a dumb terminal, so I miss a lot, even in editing.   
  
Haku Baikou: Thank you so much for your letter. "Mutual admiration society"! HA! That made me giggle. Anyway, it was such an incredible pick-up to hear from you. And please, please, do feel free to add any criticisms you have. I don't see how I could take them as anything but a compliment that you care enough to really dig into the story. :D Anyway, thanks again. Hope your Hell Week went OK! :D  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Youkan: Some sort of pudding, I think.  
  
Wagashi: Decorative sugar candies.  
  
***Groan Note:  
  
Ok. Here it is. Your Bad Pun for this chapter. I know you have been waiting.  
  
Kenshin, Kaoru and Yahiko are walking through the marketplace. All of a sudden, Kenshin gets -that look- in his eyes. You know the one! The one where his eyes turn all amber and spooky!  
  
Kenshin takes off across the square and darts into a Sanrio shop, where he draws his sakabatou, flips the blade, and starts slicing through the merchandise. Well, the shop owner and her assistant look on in horrified awe as the small redhead slices plush toy after plush toy.  
  
Finally looking satisfied, Kenshin sheaths his blade and walks back out into the market.  
  
Stupefied, the shop owner picks up a destroyed toy and cries, "Who was that man? Who would do such a thing?"  
  
The assistant just shrugs and says, "Don't you know him? That man is the Hello Kitty Battousai."  
  
GROAN. 


	14. Chapter 14: The Boy From Shingetsu

A/N: This is somewhat of a transitional and expositional chapter to set up some of the things that will happen in chapters 15 and 16, and to finish out the Tokyo arc.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 14 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The boy had been trailing behind him for nigh on two hours now and hadn't yet said a word. Well, Saitou figured, the kid probably had a great deal to think about. Not only had he seen his brother slaughtered, but he had to bury his own parents in the same day. Plus, there had been that screaming weasel girl, and whatever Himura called that little dance he did with Shishio's henchman and that smiling kid. You certainly couldn't call it 'fighting'. Not if you compared it to the fighting he'd seen Battousai do during the Bakumatsu.  
  
Ultimately, it had probably been a day that would burn and eat at the kid's heart for a long time to come. Well, at least he was quiet, allowing Saitou to keep an ear to the forest around them. He really wouldn't put it past Shishio to attack right then, after it seemed he and his smiling prodigy had retreated. Instilling a false sense of confidence in an enemy often proved a useful tactic. He should know, he'd done it on occasion.  
  
'Yare, yare. A kid. What a predicament. Eiichiro, you ahou. Why didn't you wait?'  
  
Of course, Saitou couldn't really blame the man. If he had returned to -his- village after several years and found -his- family under the control of evil influences, -he'd- probably have done something similar. Unfortunately, while Mishima Eiichiro had been a surpassing spy and a diligent employee, he'd only ever been a mediocre swordsman.   
  
And now, of all the ridiculous things, there was this -boy-. This wild-haired little ten year old who had been dragging his brother's beat up sword behind him, leaving a snaking trail in the dirt.   
  
Well, what was he supposed to do? Leave the kid there with those inept villagers? With a group of people who didn't even have the dignity to cut down their own dead and bury them? Especially since this particular kid's bravery had given them the name of Shishio Makoto in the first place. Spirit like that would definitely be wasted on the people of Shingetsu.  
  
But he did absolutely -not- feel responsible for the kid just because it had been by -his- command that his brother had gone to Shingetsu. No. Eiichiro fucked that one up all by himself.   
  
"Mister, um, is it going to be much further?" Eiji finally asked.  
  
"No," Saitou replied, looking out the corner of his eye at the boy as Eiji hurried his step in an attempt to catch up, "About a half hour, and we will reach the next village. It has a police command base for this area. You'll have to stay there for a few days while arrangements are made."  
  
Arrangements. Arrangements to get the kid to Tokyo. And then, by extension, to Saitou's wife. Because that is what one did with human train wrecks. Give them to Tokio and see what she can make of them. Well, it worked for Naoya, somewhat. And even Kozue seemed to have allowed a modicum of Tokio's poise to rub off on him.   
  
Besides, who knew more about seeing your entire family slaughtered than Tokio?   
  
"Will you be staying there too, mister?" Eiji asked, trying to heft the battered sword into his other hand. Saitou's nose wrinkled as the faint odor of blood hit him from the boy's direction. He stopped in his tracks, and looked down at the kid. Confused, Eiji looked back at him, wondering if he'd said something wrong.  
  
Saitou knelt down beside Eiji, bringing himself more on level with the boy, and picked up the kid's free hand. Turning the dirty paw over in his pristine glove, Saitou scrutinized the wounds.  
  
"Uh. I guess I've been holding on too hard," Eiji said mournfully, apparently not noticing the blood until that moment, "And broke open some of my blisters from working in the fields."  
  
"You can't carry an important sword like that, dragging it in the dirt," Saitou noted crisply, giving Eiji back his hand, "It's disrespectful."  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
Saitou stood and stepped off the path. Drawing his own katana, or rather, Okita's katana, he sliced a thick piece of bamboo down the middle, creating a two long semi-circular strips. Breaking these from the thick stalk below, he held out his hand towards Eiji. Dubious, the boy handed over the sword, and stood back to watch.  
  
Saitou pressed one strip of bamboo against the length of the katana's blade. The other strip went against the dull side of the sword. These were tied on at the hilt, middle, and tip, by a few strips of bandages that Saitou carried in case of emergency, creating a makeshift sheath.   
  
Kneeling back down beside the boy, Saitou held out the sword, "This is your brother's sword. Now that he and your father are gone, you have to be a man. And you must learn to carry a sword like a man."  
  
Deftly re-arranging the ties of the kid's half-hakama to make a secure spot for the sword, Saitou slid the blade into place.  
  
Eiji fingered the worn hilt delicately as Saitou stood again. He took a step forward, tilting a bit to the side with the sword's weight.  
  
"It's heavy," Eiji said as the two began their journey once more.  
  
Without looking at his traveling companion, Saitou replied, "Yes. It has the added weight of responsibility. Take care to carry it well."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita looked at the large clock in the train station and shook his head sadly. The train was late. Without much more to do, he took the letter from his gi and re-read it.   
  
The letter from Saitou had arrived two days previous. From what Naoya said, when the police courier arrived at Tokio's house, he had almost given the woman a heart attack upon delivering the crisp envelope. Of course, Tokio mistook the delivery for news of Saitou's death, and had immediately begun to hyperventilate on the engawa, leaving Naoya to read the letter.   
  
After assuring Tokio that the missive contained no such news, Naoya had, apparently, tried to beat the poor courier to within an inch of his life with the end of a broomstick.   
  
The letter said, in precise terms, that Mishima Eiichiro's brother, Eiji, was being sent to Tokyo to be placed in Tokio's care. His parents, as well as his brother, had all been killed by one of Shishio's henchmen. The boy, apparently, buried his own parents, who had been left hanging in the town square. When Saitou returned, they would decide what would become of the boy.   
  
The note was decidedly silent on the topic of Saitou's mission or the present metaphysical state of Himura Battousai.  
  
The whistle of the train blew in the distance, and Okita folded the paper, placing it back inside his gi. Squinting at the tracks, Souji sighed as he finally spotted the behemoth "technological wonder" steaming towards the Tokyo station.   
  
'Is this the future of the world, Seichii? To be filled with noise and smoke? To travel so fast that we can't even see the world as it passes by?'  
  
Of course, Okita had traveled by train many a time, but every time he found himself left wondering if Seichii would write a poem about such things as trains, or merely laugh at the absurdity of a need to travel so fast.  
  
The train came to a stop with a screeching hiss, lurching forward foot by foot like a dying beast in search of a place to rest its weary metal bones. As passengers disembarked in a flurry of color, excitement, and the reunion of families and lovers, Souji scanned the platform.  
  
"Okita Seichii?"  
  
Souji turned to find himself face to face with a man in police uniform, a man whom he recognized being in the employ of Saitou Hajime. Beside the officer, the ten year old boy that Okita had met after following Kamatari to Shinegetsu stood, looking disinterested in much more than the ground. He wore the same clothes that he had in the field, and carried no belongings whatsoever.  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"I'm to remand this boy into the care of Okita Seichii or Fujita Tokio. If you are the former, please sign here."  
  
Okita took the clipboard and signed his brother's name. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eiji wobble slightly, and reach out a hand towards the outer wall of the train car to steady himself. As Souji gave the document back to the officer, he found a long object wrapped in white cloth being placed in his hands.  
  
"The boy's brother's sword," the officer informed Souji before turning on his heel and stalking off towards a food stand.  
  
Okita looked down at Eiji, who now had his eyes closed shut so tightly that pearls of sweat, or perhaps tears, had formed in his bottom lashes. As Souji bent down in an attempt to find out of Eiji was alright, the kid suddenly lurched towards the edge of the platform, fell to his knees, and let out a sticky murk of vomit.  
  
Eiji coughed several times, trying to get out the foul taste and the last remnants of whatever might be contained in his stomach. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm, Eiji hazarded a glance at the man standing nearby.  
  
"You alright, Eiji-chan?" Okita asked softly, not wishing to startle the boy.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"First train ride?"  
  
Eiji nodded as he scrunched up his face and spit at the side of the train. Wiping furiously at his eyes, Eiji whispered, "D'ya think anyone saw?"  
  
"Likely, but it doesn't matter. Tokyo is a huge city. Except for me, you'll probably never see anyone in this train station after today. Can you walk?"  
  
Eiji paused for a moment, as if asking his legs the same question. Nodding, he pulled himself up on Okita's extended hand, and the two left the train station.  
  
Outside, the city of Tokyo blossomed with the full weight of a horrifyingly splendorous spring. The afternoon sun bathed the world in such intensely white light, the two had to squint away their blindness as they stepped into the outdoors. The entire city seemed to possess the aroma of fermented cherry wine, mixed with a salty twang that one usually associated with the seaside. Eiji appeared to notice this as he wrinkled his nose and said, "This city smells strange."  
  
"All cities smell different. I think it is so we can remember where we are when we close our eyes." Souji demonstrated this fact by closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. As he exhaled he murmured, "Try it."  
  
Taking in a cleansing breath, Eiji closed his eyes and let it out slowly. "I guess so," he replied, opening his eyes to look up at Souji. "I know you. You're the man from the bushes. You work with Fujita-san, right? Are you a policeman, too?"  
  
"No," Souji replied, "I'm just a friend of his, really. We were in a war together."  
  
"Oh. So, uh, what -do- you do?" Eiji asked, kicking a stone as he walked beside Souji. The rock tumbled down the street and off into a clump of weeds.  
  
"I'm not exactly so sure anymore, myself."  
  
They walked together in silence for some time, heading out of the commercial district into a more peaceful neighborhood. Both the wild-eyed, disheveled boy and the only mildly taller man contemplated their own separate thoughts. Thoughts of lives fraught with loss, with struggle, with what often amounted to ceaseless confusion.   
  
And then Okita remembered why he had worked so hard to convince Tokio to come let him pick up the boy alone.  
  
"Eiji-chan," Okita finally said, "I know we've only barely just met, but I have to ask you a favor."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"When you met Fujita-san, was there a man with him? A red-headed swordsman with a cross-shaped scar on his cheek?"  
  
"You mean Himura-san?" Eiji perked up a bit, actually deigning to take his eyes off the road and look up at Okita. "Yeah. He's the one who defeated that bastard Senkaku! What about him?"  
  
Okita bristled only slightly at the admiration which shone in the boy's eyes, but endeavored to hide his concern behind a gentle smile. It wasn't often, Okita found, that he actually had to use his smile in a less than sincere manner, but this time, the situation warranted the mild lie. "I have to ask you. Eiji-chan, not to speak of that man to Tokio-san when you meet her. Not ever."  
  
"Eh? Why not?"   
  
Okita -almost- launched into the entire story before he caught himself. Considering the boy's recent past, it probably wouldn't be the best idea to expound on the death of someone else's parents. "You really don't want to know."  
  
"Ungh. Adults are always saying that sort of crap. You say that I don't want to know, but what you really mean is that you don't want to tell me."  
  
"I'm sorry Eiji. You're right." Okita said with a small sigh as the pair turned down Taito street. "A long time ago, during the war, Himura killed Tokio's parents. He was an assassin."  
  
Eiji stopped walking for a moment. Okita slowed his pace to allow the kid to gather his thoughts and catch up. Obviously, it would be quite confusing for a ten year old boy to hear that the man who ostensibly saved your village once killed people for a living.  
  
Finally, Eiji jogged up beside Souji and said, "You're right. I really didn't want to know that, after all."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Darkness and darkness and darkness and darkness. The permeating blackness of the cell left a man without much more to do than consider his life while rotting away in the stink of sweat and mold. Shit. You couldn't even take a proper piss around here without calling the guard to unlock your arm shackles.  
  
Still, Chou decided, the alternatives to being in this cell didn't really possess any appeal. The cops probably figured that he just wasn't important enough to the Juppon Gatana for Shishio to send an assassin. Which, of course, wasn't exactly true. He'd never been employed to assist Shishio achieve his 'Kuni Tori' or whatever that crispy critter ultimately wanted.  
  
No, he'd been part of a package deal. For this reason alone, Chou knew, he still lived.  
  
"Where is that sudare-atama?" Chou muttered to himself, leaning his rather impressive coiffure against the wall behind his chair. "What does he think, I have all day or something?"  
  
Realizing how impossibly stupid his last question to himself had been, Chou closed his eyes and pretended he'd never even said it.   
  
Finally, he heard the very welcome sound of a ring of keys being fumbled at the thick metal door to the jail cell. The door swung open a second later, revealing the daunting silhouette of the policeman they called "Fujita Goro".   
  
A man who, it seemed, single-handedly supported the import of foreign cigarettes into Japan.  
  
Sawagejou Chou craned his head to the side, trying to get a good look at the hallway beyond the cop. "What? You didn't bring the damn roosterhead with you this time? Shucks, and I was hoping for a re-match."  
  
"As amusing as it is to watch two complete morons play at fighting, I'm afraid I've rid myself of -that- nuisance for the time being," Saitou replied, stepping into the dank cell. The ex-Shinsengumi Captain examined the other man with the keen eye developed from more than a decade of scrutinizing one's enemy. Chou wanted something, and whatever he wanted, he wanted pretty badly.  
  
"Feh," Chou said, spitting on the floor beside his chair, "Arentcha gonna ask me why I called you down here?"  
  
Saitou said nothing to this, deciding instead to merely cross his arms and flick the tip of one thumbed glove against the end of a cigarette, sending ash onto the already filthy floor of the jail cell. His expression changed not a hair as he continued to gaze apathetically at the prisoner. Yes, it wouldn't take long at all. Perhaps not even the count of three.  
  
'One.'  
  
"Well?" Chou said, shifting his weight in his chair.  
  
'Two.'  
  
"Are you even listening, you cockroach-faced sadist?"  
  
'Three.'  
  
"Look, I want to make a deal with you."  
  
This, it seemed, proved enough of a revelation to cause the cop to raise one eyebrow and dryly ask, "Hn. So ka? What could you possibly have that I would want? You barely knew anything about the plans for Kyoto."  
  
"Now are you going to listen to me? Okay, maybe I don't know a lot of stuff about Shishio's plans, but I could tell you something you'd be interested in. Say, perhaps the layout of Shishio's headquarters?"  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
Chou smiled devilishly, his one open eye crinkling at the edges. "I don't think you'll defeat Shishio. I've seen the kinda stuff he has in his arsenal. But, if you got in you at least half the strength of Battousai, the two of you might cause him some trouble, at least."  
  
"Perceptive," Saitou muttered, turning the back on the young man, to look down the hall, "Did you figure that one out all by yourself, or did you collaborate with the jail's mouse population?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Nothing. Go on."  
  
"Anyway, I don't give a damn about Shishio. I frankly don't care what happens to the man. But, my sister, she's not no warrior or nothing. She ain't done nothing wrong 'cept be in love with that nutjob."  
  
Saitou briefly tried to imagine a female version of Chou. This basically consisted of Chou with breasts and geisha makeup, which was altogether more disturbing than the time when as a boy he'd, very very briefly, seen his own older sister in the bath. "A sister? Kami-sama must have hated your mother."  
  
"Look, asshole, there's no reason to crack jokes about my ma. Yumi is my half-sister anyway. Her ma and my ma's the same, but my dad was a foreigner. He left my ma, and after ma died, Yumi took care of me. And I was her bodyguard when she was an oiran. That's why I don't know so much about Shishio and shit. My job was to protect Yumi, cause like I said, she ain't no warrior."  
  
"I see. And in return for clemency towards your sister, you'll be willing to give me a precise map of Shishio's headquarters?"  
  
Chou nodded, scrunching his face up a bit. Hopefully, he'd done the right thing. Even with a map, there didn't seem to be any way that these guys could defeat Shishio. Nonetheless, anyone could easily harm Yumi, especially if they cornered her away from Shishio or Soujiro. Maybe if they brought her in, after how cooperative he'd been, he and Yumi could leave Japan. They could go to Europe and see Paris, just like Yumi always wanted. Besides, his collection lacked interesting western swords.  
  
"Very well," Saitou replied after a moment of contemplation. "But, do realize, if a single door, a single wall, is out of place on your diagrams, I will come back and feed you that map. And then I will cut it out of your stomach and feed it to you again."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Eiji-chan, are you hungry? Would you like some lunch?" Tokio asked, barely peeking around the open door of Snowflake Sweets to look at the young man. Eiji sat, as he had for the entire week, underneath the front awning, watching the feet of those marketgoers who walked past. He hardly ever moved from the spot until Naoya and Tokio locked up for the evening and headed home. For any other boy, under perhaps any other circumstances, spending your days with purveyors of tasty confections would be far from a reason to look glum.  
  
"No, thank you, Tokio-san," Eiji mumbled, leaning his head against the newly painted shop front.   
  
"Please do tell me if you become hungry later, Eiji-chan."  
  
Tokio slipped back into the shop, where Naoya remained hard at work rolling dainty pink sakuramoti into perfectly symmetrical balls. The teenager wiped her hands on a nearby rag and said, "Still not eating much, huh?"  
  
"No, not much" Tokio whispered. Eiji had eaten very sparingly since he had arrived in Tokyo. There wasn't much in which he seemed to be interested in at all.   
  
He hadn't been sleeping well, either. At home, Tokio had heard the boy sobbing in the next room several times. She suspected nightmares, but possessed no proof of that assumption. Every time she knocked on the shoji to ask if Eiji was alright, he'd only ever answer between sniffles, "I'm fine." or "Go away."  
  
"What are you going to do, Tokio-san?" Naoya picked up a small basket of cherry tree leaves and began to spread them out on a large section of paper she had placed on the counter.   
  
Tokio took her place beside Naoya as the two began to sort the leaves. "I don't see what can be done. He is mourning the death of his family with his whole small body. I think, perhaps, that becoming lonely after being so warmly loved is the most terrible pain a being can go through. He has to decide for himself if he can live with that pain."  
  
Although the expression on Tokio's face had not changed, something in the way the woman's timid whisper wavered forced Naoya to find a way to change the subject. "Has Okita-san found a buyer for Katsu-san's house yet?"  
  
"Not yet, I think."  
  
"Too bad he isn't going to keep it. What a place to live, huh? My family's flat would inside the front room. Twice!"  
  
Tokio poured hot water from a nearby kettle into a large porcelain bowl and used a pair of chopsticks to mix in a generous portion of salt. "With Okubo-kyo dead, he can no longer afford to keep the place. Besides, it probably contains too many memories of Katsu."  
  
"What do you think Okita-san will do now? Poetry doesn't pay much. We have a poet living next door to my mother's flat and he barely makes enough money to pay rent."   
  
"I'm certain he will think of something," Tokio replied, spooning the secret ingredient into her mixture. Just a taste of honey.   
  
As the amber liquid dripped into the steaming bowl, Naoya exclaimed, "You're not supposed to put honey in sakuramoti!"  
  
Tokio only smirked and stirred in the honey until it dissolved into the salt and water. Her whisper suddenly became oddly serious as she replied, "Naoya, it is unlikely that I will ever have a daughter to whom I can show all my best recipes. But someday, you may have many daughters and granddaughters. I hope that some rainy spring afternoon, your children will come to you, and you will show them how to make sakuramoti with just a touch of honey, just like your friend Tokio used to do."  
  
Stunned by this, Naoya stood, fingering one of the cherry leaves, her mind grinding in thought. "Come on, Tokio-san," Naoya implored, "I can't take -two- depressed people. Besides, if I ever have daughters and granddaughters, you'll meet them all. Someone's gotta teach them how to be ladies."  
  
"I apologize, Naoya. You are right. It is selfish of me to bemoan my fate while Hajime is..."  
  
The conversation was cut short by a young woman in a yellow kimono walking into the shop. Tokio recognized the newcomer immediately and motioned her over to the counter.  
  
"Kiji-san, how are you today? How is business?"  
  
With a lively step, Kiji Meiko made her way to the other end of the shop, her high ponytail bouncing animatedly atop her head. "Slow. Slow. So much so that I'm closing up shop to take a trip. I was hoping you'd have some more of those sakuramoti I tried last week. I'd like to give some to the friend I'm going to visit."  
  
"Certainly, just now freshly made. Let me find a box."  
  
As Tokio disappeared into the back room, Naoya fidgeted a bit, looking at the counter, and then at the other woman. "Uh, Kiji-san," Naoya finally started, "Is it really true that you can use a poultice of herring eyes and ginger to get rid of toenail fungus?"  
  
Meiko, used to this sort of question, only smiled gently. "I don't think I've ever heard that one before. I'll bring over something that might be a bit more efficient before I leave."  
  
"Thanks," Naoya replied, pulling several leaves out of the bowl and wrapping them around the pink balls she'd rolled earlier. Tokio re-appeared seconds later, holding a small box.   
  
"Say," Meiko said, "Do you know there is a little boy sitting outside of your shop?"  
  
Tokio nodded as she put the sakuramoti into the box, "Yes, that is Eiji. His family passed away and he's come to live with us. His brother worked with my husband."  
  
"Oh, that is terribly kind of you, to take in an orphan. Well, thank you for the sakuramoti, Tokio-san. I'll let you know how my friend likes them."  
  
Kiji Meiko left the shop, sparing another glance at the sad-looking boy sitting in front of Snowflake Sweets before crossing the square towards her own shop, a tiny apothecary that seemed to be able to stay open despite an overwhelming lack of customers. The deftness with which Meiko avoided the other patrons of the crowded market, while at the same time balancing a large box of sakuramoti on one fingertip went largely unnoticed by everyone except the slender, and rather dour, teenager standing in front of the apothecary. The youngster crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as she tapped her foot impatiently.  
  
"I've been waiting forever," the teenager said as Meiko brushed past, entering the apothecary with aplomb. "I've got other stuff to do, you know."  
  
"You didn't have to come at all. I've already given them my answer," Meiko replied.  
  
"Yeah, well...say, what's in the box?"  
  
Meiko shot a deadly glare at the teenager and exclaimed, "Mind your own business."  
  
"It's my job to be nosy," the girl declared.  
  
"No, it's your job to deliver messages. So, I assume you have a letter for me, do you not?"  
  
"Fine," the girl replied, producing an envelope from her obi. This, she slapped onto the counter before pronouncing, "I almost hope you don't change your mind. If not, you'll get what you deserve, Kiji Meiko."  
  
"Pish posh, get out of my shop, runt. Run back to your mistress."  
  
With a haughty harrumph, the teenager stalked out of the shop, disappearing into the marketplace beyond with incredible speed. Meiko picked up the letter with pursed lips. For a moment, she considered crumpling the missive and tossing it away, but curiosity prevailed. Tearing open the envelope, Meiko took out the paper and afforded it a cursory reading.  
  
Then she tipped over the envelope and spilled the remaining contents onto the counter.   
  
Four dead bumblebees.   
  
Meiko snarled at the sight, and with one swift swipe of her hand, brushed the expired insects off of the counter and onto the floor.   
  
If Keisuke wanted an answer, then she'd get one. It had been far too long since Meiko had visited Hachinisasareru headquarters, anyway.  
  
"Well, Okashira," Meiko mumbled to herself as she drew the bamboo blinds of the apothecary, "I hope you like the sakuramoti your granddaughter made, at least."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou winced as he tied a strip of bandage around each of his legs. The wounds would not be fatal, but they definitely would slow him down. In the depths of the oddly decorated room, Saitou could hear the rhythmic sound of dripping as droplets of Usui's blood hit the tatami below.  
  
Usui. Definitely a man whom, as Tokio would say, needed to be put out of his own misery. The blind ex-hitokiri for the Bakufu knew little more than his need to bathe his ego in the blood of the weak to soothe the fires of vengeance. Saitou had put the dog down, but at the cost of a few wounds of his own.   
  
Saitou stood again and tested his legs by leaning his weight on each. Painful, but they'd hold. For now.   
  
Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, Saitou surveyed the scene. Usui lay pinned high on the wall by Okita's katana, far out of Saitou's reach. This presented quite a problem. With his legs wounded, it seemed a waste to chance further injury by jumping to retrieve the sword. Certainly, Saitou couldn't defy gravity as easily as Himura Battousai, but he could still jump high enough, if necessary.  
  
So, the problem remained. How could he retrieve Okita's katana? The room contained no furniture to stand upon. Finding a ladder would definitely take too long. Time, indeed, presented the most daunting factor. Saitou needed to be able to search the rest of Shishio's headquarters before the end of the battle between the two Ishin Shishi hitokiris. If Chou's map proved correct, the entire complex had so much petroleum running under and through it that it seemed unlikely he'd get a chance to search -after- the fight. Not knowing Shishio's pyromania.  
  
Then Saitou spotted the answer right in front of him. Usui's rouchin lay on the tatami, the bladed tip covered with Saitou's own rapidly congealing blood. Trying not to put too much pressure on his wounds as he bent, Saitou picked up the foreign spear and used it as a crutch to stand back up.   
  
Quite an interesting weapon, this rouchin. Usui had used it exceedingly effectively, despite the fact that it felt quite unwieldy in Saitou's hands. Nonetheless, it would prove the perfect lever to retrieve Okita's katana.  
  
Holding the spear by its dull end, Saitou raised it towards Usui's dead body and knocked the flat of the bloodied blade against the hilt of the katana. With a loud thunk, the katana dislodged itself from the wall. Both it, and Usui's corpse, fell ungracefully to the ground below, barely missing Saitou's feet.   
  
Problem solved.  
  
Now, really, only one issue remained. Only one part of the equation required resolution.   
  
Shishio Makoto or Himura Battousai? Which one would meet their death at the end of Saitou's gatotsu?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio tugged at the brim of her straw hat, pulling it lower to help shield her eyes from the early June sunlight. On days like these the heat prevented Tokio from wearing even her lightest scarves, so she had opted instead for a thin layer of bandages around her neck. Usually, if only Hajime were home, she'd wear nothing at all around her neck, allowing the old wound to breathe. But, with Eiji present, Tokio opted to cover the wound as lightly as possible and go about her day without complaint.  
  
Eiji. The boy sat now on the engawa, his knees drawn up to his chest, his face buried against his legs. Several times this afternoon, Tokio swore she had heard him sobbing, but looked up to find Eiji hadn't changed position.   
  
Tokio threw herself in her work. She'd decided that, this being her day off, it would be a good time to plant vegetables. Really, the garden should have had attention weeks ago, but with Kamatari, her husband leaving, opening Snowflake Sweets, and Eiji's arrival, Tokio hadn't found the time until now.   
  
Tokio leaned on her spade, scooping up a fresh chunk of thick dirt and setting it aside. Cucumbers would be best. Right here next to the yams and radishes. If enough grew, she could pickle them for the winter. That would be a nice surprise for everyone on some cold December night.  
  
"You can't plant those all next to each other."  
  
Shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, Tokio looked up to find Eiji standing next to her, his bare feet toeing the dirt. The boy's cinnamon colored hair jutted at unruly angles, becoming even more untamed with each mild breeze that blew through the courtyard. Tokio glanced at her rows of vegetables to try to discern the problem. "Pardon me?"  
  
Eiji kneeled down in the dirt beside Tokio and patted the ground, "You don't have good enough soil. You see? You've planted all the underground vegetables together. They need the same sorts of nutrients, so they will be stealing from one another. Competing to survive. You should plant rows of soy beans in between. Soy beans don't tax the ground as much."  
  
Tokio couldn't help the look of astonishment which crossed her face. "Thank you, Eiji." Tapping her fingers on the end of her spade, Tokio hit upon an idea, "Would you like to help me? I'm afraid I don't know so terribly much about gardening."  
  
"I can tell," Eiji said, kneeling down in the dirt beside Tokio. "You're planting the seeds far too deeply. Here. Let me show you."  
  
The two worked side by side in silence for almost an hour, Eiji digging the holes, and Tokio dropping in the seeds, covering them again, and pouring a bit of water on top. The scathing heat of the sun made both parties sweat profusely, and Tokio found herself itching at the bandages on her neck on occasion, where the sweat from her face and hair kept collecting. Eiji, noticing this, said, "You could take those off, you know."  
  
"I have a nasty scar," Tokio whispered, trying not to look at the boy. "It is how my voice was injured."  
  
"I don't mind," Eiji replied, biting his bottom lip. "Can I see?"  
  
Tokio didn't really know what to say, but since Eiji seemed to be interested in -something-, at least, she decided to humor him. Unwrapping the thin bandages from her neck, Tokio lifted her chin a little to show Eiji the tangled gash. The boy leaned forward and inspected the scar, squinting against the sun to get a better look.  
  
"Did it hurt?"  
  
"I suppose it did, but I don't really remember. I had other things on my mind at the time."  
  
Eiji leaned back on his knees and returned to digging holes in the dirt. "You mean like your parents dying?"  
  
Tokio's head turned so quickly that she felt sweat fly off the back of her neck. Her eyes bored into the back of Eiji's head as she struggled to contain her surprise.  
  
"Okita-san told me."  
  
"I see," Tokio replied as she mentally went through a list of possible punishments for Okita. She -did- need her shed repainted.  
  
"Does it still make you sad to think about it, Tokio-san?"  
  
"Yes. And angry too. But, then sometimes I think it is selfish of me to still be sad. I'm certain my parents wanted me to remember them, but not in ways that bring me pain. So, I try to be the person they raised me to be. That is why I plant this garden, you see. My mother always said that a proper lady has a fine garden, and she gives all that she grows to her family, to friends, or to the poor."  
  
Tokio watched the faintest smirk touch Eiji's lips. "Well, then it's a good thing I came along, Tokio-san. Because, at the rate you were going, you wouldn't have grown enough vegetables to fill a teacup."  
  
"You sound fairly certain of your skills, Eiji-chan."  
  
"I am. I know all about nature."  
  
A twinkle of mischief sparkled in Tokio's eyes. Scooping up some of the wet earth with the hand farthest from Eiji, Tokio tossed the mud over her head. Chunks of moist dirt landed on Eiji's shoulder with a "plop". Putting her hand to her forehead, Tokio looked up, scanning the sky. "Oh my. Say Eiji, you know all about nature, what sort of bird do you think that was?"  
  
Eiji looked down at his shoulder as he brushed off a sizeable clump of dirt. A look of confusion skittered across the boy's face. Was this the same woman who, up until now, had always acted in the most refined and dignified manner Eiji ever seen?   
  
Grabbing his own clump of mud, Eiji darted forward and smeared the wet dirt down the back of Tokio's gardening yukata. "I don't know, Tokio-san. But, it looks like he got you, too."  
  
The mud fight that broke out was perhaps one of the strangest in all of history. The ever-poised Fujita Tokio ended up rolling in the dirt in order to avoid the onslaught of dirt balls being slung by a laughing little boy. Gasping hard for air, due to the fact that she had been laughing so profusely, Tokio grabbed the only thing within her reach: a basket of cucumber seeds. These she tossed at Eiji, and because his entire body had been covered in moist dirt or sweat, they stuck to his gi, neck and face.  
  
Eiji spit and brushed at the seeds which had become affixed to his lips. "Crap. Now I'm going to grow up to be a cucumber."  
  
Tokio laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach to keep it from hurting. As Eiji sunk down beside her, looking worn out from the afternoon's activity, Tokio caught her breath and finally replied, "You know, you could bathe. You are rather smelly."  
  
"Yeah," Eiji said, brushing some of the dirt out of his hair with his hands, "Well, you don't exactly smell like a flower yourself, Tokio-san."  
  
"Don't tell Naoya, she'll be so utterly disappointed."  
  
Eiji giggled a bit as he surveyed the damage to the garden. "Tokio-san, um, do you think we could have dinner a little early? I'm awful hungry."  
  
Giving the boy a friendly smile, Tokio sat up and brushed the dirt off of her yukata as best she could. "Of course, Eiji-chan. Why don't you go into the bath and get cleaned up. I've made you a summer yukata, if you would like something to change into."  
  
"That'd be nice," Eiji replied, holding out a hand to help the lady up, just like his mother always said he should. "Oh and, Tokio-san?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you think it would be alright if I called you 'Auntie Tokio'?"  
  
"I'd like that very much, Eiji. I really would."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The impressive heat given off by the growing fires in Shishio's complex created visible waves across Saitou's line of sight as he set himself into Gatotsu stance.  
  
Now was the time. If he was going to kill Himura, best do it now. Shishio had died, killed not by a sword stroke, but by the limits of his own body. And that left only one of the two Ishin Shishi hitokiris that needed to be put down.   
  
The Hitokiri Battousai. Unconscious as he was, being drug along under Sagara's arm, the red-headed ex-assassin probably wouldn't even feel it. But, -that- was the problem, wasn't it? He was an -ex- assassin. Even though the infamous Battousai still lived, as Saitou knew, within the broken body of that rurouni, the demon of the Bakumatsu had not shown his face in -this- battle.   
  
Okita's voice echoed in Saitou's head. "As soldiers we must become something transcendental. In what you are undertaking, you must have no doubts."  
  
Damn morality. He couldn't kill Himura now. The man couldn't even defend himself. Couldn't even hold a sword if you tied it to his hand. Plus, he'd probably have to kill Sagara too, since the damn ahou was standing in the way. Even if he did manage to hit Himura without injuring Sanosuke, the kid probably would probably insist on fighting Saitou until they -all- perished in the growing fire.  
  
No. It just wouldn't work at all. He'd just have to take down Battousai later. In a fair fight. A proper duel. Until then, he'd just have to keep an eye on the man.  
  
Saitou ran at the heavy doors, punching through them with the force of the gatotsu. The kickback from the blow knocked the injured cop backwards, but Saitou landed on his feet, letting out a small hiss that went unnoticed by the other three men standing on the bridge.  
  
"I've gotten through more of these situations than you," Saitou informed Sanosuke, who had just been babbling something about the fact that Saitou was wounded.  
  
Hefting Kenshin over his shoulder, Sanosuke replied, "Lets get out of here."  
  
Shinomori, the silent observer to the chaos, seemed to agree as the trio turned to head for the door. Right then, a thunderous rumble shook the complex, causing more fires began to appear around the men. "Shit," Sanosuke exclaimed, "The battlefield. It's exploding!"  
  
Sagara did, after all, have a penchant for pointing out the keenly obvious.  
  
Suddenly, one of the giant smokestacks fell, and the resulting quake caused half the walkway to fall away. Saitou ended up stranded on the far side. The side -without- the door.  
  
"Saitou!" Sanosuke screamed  
  
"Yare, yare. How annoying," Saitou replied, digging in his pocket to find his cigarettes and matches.  
  
"You bastard, trying to run out again while you are ahead? What about our fight? Answer me, Saitou!"  
  
Exhaling out of the corner of his mouth, Saitou looked at the blood-drenched kid. He really did seem concerned, didn't he? "I just told you, I've seen far more chaos than you've ever known. Shinomori has my map. Just follow the route I've marked to get out."  
  
Saitou turned his back on the trio and headed back towards the battlefield. What did they think he was, an idiot? There were at least two other ways out of the area, possibly more that even Chou didn't know about.   
  
Besides, he needed proof of Shishio's death, or else the Meiji government would continue to be nervous and unsettled. And nervous politicians never make good, rational, decisions.  
  
Using the force of a second blast, Saitou propelled himself into an opening in the iron structure containing the staircase leading up towards the battlefield. One handed, he flipped himself up the rapidly collapsing staircase and, mere seconds later, emerged back onto the platform beyond.   
  
Saitou picked up Shishio's sword. As an afterthought, he grabbed Yumi's tanto and scooped up few ashes into his now-empty cigarette pack. Scanning the burning field of battle for his exit, Saitou found it blocked by fire.   
  
Damn.   
  
This was going to hurt. A lot.  
  
Stuffing Yumi's tanto and ashes down his shirt, Saitou backed up as far as he possibly could on the platform without stepping into the fire. His legs throbbed with pain, but Saitou commanded them to work, just this one last time. With Okita's katana in his right hand, and Shishio's in his left, Saitou ran at the edge of the platform, the growl in his throat competing with the crash of stones and iron as the building fell away behind him.   
  
And then he jumped.  
  
When the dust and smoke cleared from the collapse of the building, one lanky figure could be seen hanging from two katanas thrust into the side of the mountain cliff.  
  
"Yare, yare," Saitou muttered to himself with a small sigh, "The things I do for my country."  
  
Saitou tried pulling himself up, but with his legs now completely useless, he had little leverage to make progress up the cliff face.   
  
Which is why he found himself a bit relieved, a few minutes later when, a rope was tossed down the edge of the mountain, allowing him to grab on, and pluck the two swords from the cliff face. The ride to the top was rather bumpy, jarring his wounded legs, causing them to sting even more painfully.  
  
At the top, a giant hand reached out and pulled Saitou over the edge. The cop rolled himself away from the precipice only to find himself looking into Anji's eyes.  
  
"Monk," Saitou said, his eyes narrowing with the hissed greeting.  
  
Anji nodded quietly and replied, "I want to turn myself in."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Six weeks later.  
  
Every single person who passed Sawagejou Chou on the streets of Tokyo stared wide-eyed at his physics-defying hair, his bright red coat, or his plethora of assorted swords. Few things in the world stuck out as much Chou. Among them would be such amazements as blue pigs that spoke precise French and sphere-shaped celery that tasted like chicken.  
  
Frankly, the reverse psychology calculated by Saitou Hajime, his boss, to affect the public at large seemed astounding. Who would ever believe that a man so liable to catch the eye, so ostentatious and loud, would be a spy, a detective, or a cop? No one sane, definitely.   
  
Chou looked briefly at the map in his hands. He'd been walking around this same damn neighborhood for an hour now, and still hadn't found the place. Some officer named "Shinzui" had drawn it for him, and if Chou wasn't mistaken, his sempai had played a rather large prank.   
  
"Hey lady," Chou asked a passing woman carrying a child, "Do you know where Taito street is, eh?"  
  
The startled woman couldn't find her voice. She backed away from Chou slowly and pointed eastwards.  
  
Chou clicked his tongue and shrugged, heading off in the suggested direction. What did she think he was going to do? Steal her baby and toss the kid up in the air on the end of a sword sheath? Alright, so maybe he -might- do that sort of thing on occasion. But, not today. Besides, he would never really hurt a kid, even though he told Himura Battousai that he might kill Iori just to test Arai Shatku's last sword. He liked kids. The damned anklebiters.  
  
Chou continued down the street until found himself at a dead end.   
  
"Damn it. This is some sort of conspiracy."  
  
Turning around, Chou retraced his steps. Well, at least the weather wasn't bad. The thick cloud cover blocked out the harsh sun enough to make the heat bearable. And, you couldn't exactly wear a hat with hair like Chou's.   
  
Of course, he'd started dressing so oddly back when Yumi had been an oiran. It wasn't so much that he wanted the attention that Yumi garnered from her admirers. No. It was just that...well...the more odd he looked standing by her side, the less likely people were to leer at Yumi and stare at him instead. Chou always knew he could protect his half-sister from any attacker, but protecting Yumi from what people thought always proved much harder.  
  
Yumi.  
  
Damn Shishio. Damn him, damn him, damn him.  
  
Saitou Hajime, as Chou knew him now, had returned from the battle with what remained of Yumi, which wasn't much, just some ashes and Yumi's tanto. The story Saitou told seemed fantastic, almost unbelievable, but knowing the remarkably cruel ideology of Shishio, and after checking the story with a certain Oniwabanshuu ninja also reported to be present in the battle, Chou found he had to come to terms with the gruesome circumstances of his half-sister's death. She'd been stabbed clean through by her lover, Shishio Makoto, just so he could injure Himura Battousai, who had been standing in front of her.  
  
What an asshole.  
  
But, thanks to Saitou, at least he'd been able to give Yumi a proper burial. And, he had a job. A completely -stupid- job which involved walking around the same neighborhood looking for his boss' goddamn house for hours on end, but a job nonetheless.   
  
"Hey you," Chou called to a passerby, "Do you have any idea where Taito street is?"  
  
"You're standing on it, mister."  
  
Chou grumbled some rather choice expletives in reply and whirled around to examine the gates of the nearby houses. Katamoto. Hiroyasu. Kouji. Fujita.  
  
Aha! Fujita!  
  
That Shinzui character would get his when Chou got back. Well. Now to find the Wolf's wife. Hard to believe the old cockroach was married. Seemed like the kind of guy more likely to raise deadly blowfish than a family.  
  
Chou entered the gate to find two figures hard at work in the front yard. A little boy, no older than ten or eleven, appeared to be pulling weeds from a small patch of garden near the fence. And on the engawa...  
  
Who was that adorable creature sweeping the engawa?  
  
"Oi," Naoya said, stopping her broom as she finally noticed the extremely hard-not-to-notice gentleman standing in the yard, "Who're you?"  
  
Upon hearing Naoya's voice, Eiji turned around to peer at the newcomer. "Geez. City folk sure do dress strange," he mumbled to himself.  
  
Chou shifted his weight as he continued to gawk at Naoya. Why was he here again? He'd completely forgotten. Oh right. The boss' wife.  
  
"I've come for Fujita Tokio," Chou finally replied, suddenly completely aware that he had nothing to do with his hands. So, like always, he rested one on the hilt of the sword hanging at his hip.  
  
Naoya, apparently coming to the realization that the man wore several katanas, scowled menacingly. 'Come for Tokio? With that many swords this guy can only mean to... Shit!'  
  
"Eiji!" Naoya yelled as she leapt off the engawa, broom in hand. "He's here to kill Tokio!"  
  
"Nani?" Chou replied, backing away from the advancing teenager, who really looked even more lovely with her brown eyes flashing daggers. "No I..."  
  
"No? Liar. No one comes here with that many swords just to have tea! Who are you with, huh? The ninjas? Those Juppon Gatana people?"  
  
"The...Juppon...Gatana?" Chou repeated incredulously, wondering how a spritely girl with a crooked obi knew about Shishio's henchmen. "How..."  
  
"I knew it! I knew it! Quick Eiji. Go get Tokio-san out of here." As Eiji scrambled onto the porch, a furious rain of broomstick blows began to fall on Chou. "You bastards! Why can't you...leave her alone?"  
  
Chou deflected the blows as best he could, using his thick arm guards to shelter the more sensitive parts of his body from the rapid onslaught. He had to figure out what to do. Drawing a sword would definitely just scare the girl even more. And he certainly couldn't -punch- her. Not only would she get hurt, but, knowing his boss, he'd probably end up being assigned to the police stables to shovel horse shit until his hair turned grey.  
  
So, Chou did the only thing he could think of to do. He picked up seventeen year old Meshibe Naoya by the collar of her kimono, and kissed her.  
  
Hard.  
  
Naoya squirmed and beat her fists against Chou's shoulders. But, being a good foot and a half in the air, she found herself without an escape. And, in addition, she discovered that she rather liked...no, she didn't. Yet, whatever he was doing to her lips was...well, it felt...no. Definitely -not-.   
  
Gathering every ounce of resolve she possessed, Naoya did exactly what her mother always taught her to do in times of crisis involving men. She kneed him directly in the groin.  
  
Or rather, she tried.  
  
But, due to the fact that she couldn't really see what she was doing, and because she did feel suddenly a bit dizzy, Naoya ended up only thumping her knee against his thigh.   
  
Finally, Chou pulled his mouth away from Naoya's, and stared at her, one eye open, one closed, trying to predict the spirited young woman's next move. "Are ya gonna listen to me now?"  
  
"Why'd you do that?" Naoya asked, a bit too breathlessly for her own taste. She placed her hands on top of Chou's gloved fists in an attempt to wrest herself free of his grasp.  
  
"Cause, I'm trying to tell you. I'm not here to kill anyone. I'm a policeman, see? I work with Fujita-san. I'm here to take Tokio-san to see him."   
  
"Oh," Naoya replied as Chou set her gently back down on the ground. Brushing herself off, and setting her kimono collar straight, Naoya tried to hide the growing redness crossing her cheeks. "Ano...sorry for...ano...you're really tall."  
  
Well, that was about all she could think up at the moment. It -was- her first kiss, after all.  
  
Chou, on the other hand, only smirked. His height wasn't usually the first thing people noticed about him. No. It was -never- the first thing people noticed about him.  
  
Suddenly, the front shoji of the house slid open with a bang. In the doorway, Chou found himself looking at a svelte woman with burning amber eyes, who appeared to have some sort of spiked weapon attached to her right hand. The boy from before stood next to her, carrying a sword so badly worn that it might fall to dust if you even spit on it.   
  
"Kindly remove yourself from my yard. Or else." Tokio rasped, trying to look far more menacing than her abilities allowed.   
  
"No, no, Tokio-san. It's okay. He's with the police. He's here to take you to see Fujita-san."  
  
Tokio's left hand fluttered immediately to her neck, as her other hand fumbled at the shuko. "My husband? He's back?"  
  
Chou, deciding that these people were just about the strangest group he'd encountered since the Juppon Gatana, merely nodded in reply.  
  
"Naoya, please, show this gentleman inside right away. Eiji, would you put away your sword and my shuko?"  
  
As Tokio and Eiji returned to the house, Naoya found herself alone, once again, with the tall stranger. "So, uh, you got a name?"  
  
"Sawagejou Chou. You?"  
  
"Naoya. Meshibe Naoya. And if you ever try that shit again, I'll tell Fujita-san exactly how much of a pervert you are."  
  
Chou grinned devilishly.   
  
Death by gatotsu? Well. He might just have to chance it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Ano, Naoya? Why do you have that silly grin on your face?" Eiji asked as Tokio and Chou left the front yard and headed down Taito street towards police headquarters.  
  
"Shut up, Eiji. Just shut up."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Officer Sawagejou," Tokio whispered as she twined the end of her scarf around her hands to keep it from dragging in the street. "I didn't want to ask in front of Eiji and Naoya, but I assume since you are taking me to see -him- that my husband was injured fairy badly?"  
  
Chou shot a glance at the woman walking beside him. Well, at least she hadn't cried or done any of that other stupid girl stuff. Tokio had merely offered him a very formal (and mildly confusing) tea, and then said quietly, "Shall we?"  
  
"Yeah, he -was- injured. But, that was six weeks ago. He appears to be fine now, but, see, that's the problem. He won't let the damn doctor look at him. He won't stay in the police infirmary. He just keeps getting up and going to his desk."  
  
"Then, if he is well, why doesn't he come home?" Tokio asked, wondering what could keep Hajime from returning to their house.  
  
"The police commissioner, Kawaji-san. He says that the boss isn't allowed to leave headquarters until the doctor checks him out and dismisses him. Police rules, he says."  
  
"I see," Tokio whispered with a smirk, finding her husband's stubborn nature to be infinitely amusing. "So, you want me to convince him to let the doctor look at him."  
  
"Yeah. That's about right."  
  
Tokio tittered, her eyes shining with the knowledge that her husband was more than alright, he was very much himself. "Would you also like me to cause snow to fall in July?"  
  
"Huh? Couldn't hear you that time."  
  
"Ah, nevermind, Officer. Thank you so very much for your assistance in this matter."  
  
At the end of their journey, Tokio found herself being led into police headquarters, a place she had never before been. To Tokio, the place seemed dark and dreary, coated in the scent of paper and sweat. The halls lay mostly barren, except for a few signs and the occasional notice or plaque. She found herself easily lost as she followed Chou through a labyrinth of walkways and stairwells which all seemed to be bathed in the same dim green glow. Windows appeared to be rare, though some of the hallways did sport benches. All in all, Tokio was hoping to leave as soon as possible.  
  
"Well," Chou said, "This is it. You go on in, Fujita-san. His office is the door on the far side of the room."  
  
Tokio nodded to Chou and turned the handle on the western style door, stepping inside. The antechamber contained several tables, maps, and chairs, all set in immaculate order. The incessant ticking of the brass clock on the wall made the only noise until a deep grumble from behind the far door said, "I'm not going to the infirmary. Get out or face consequences beyond your control."  
  
Tokio moved quietly across the room and grabbed the handle of the second door. There was no point in trying to talk to him through a door, even with Hajime's exceptional hearing she doubted her whisper would carry. Taking a deep breath, Tokio turned the knob and opened the door a crack.  
  
"Haji..."  
  
Tokio's arm slipped from the door handle as she found herself being forcibly yanked into the room. She would have said something, anything, if she hadn't immediately been lifted off the ground, and smothered by her husband's hungry kiss. His lips crushed hers so powerfully, Tokio felt she might bruise by morning.   
  
Tokio's hands didn't seem to know where to go. She ran them through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back, and around his hips. All there. He really was all there. Yes. It felt like him. Tokio took in a sharp breath through her nose, reveling in the smell of smoke and sage. It smelled like him.  
  
As his lips pulled away from hers, and moved up her jaw to her ear, Tokio heard, "I told you the consequences would be beyond your control."  
  
It definitely -growled- like him.  
  
"You knew it was me. You tried to frighten me."  
  
"Hn. It worked, didn't it?" Saitou replied, sitting down on the edge of his desk, and pulling his wife across his lap. Tokio pressed her face into the side of his neck, fluttering her eyelashes several times against the sensitive skin, which caused Saitou to tighten his grip around her shoulders.   
  
"Hajime, your mission, is it finished now?"  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, "But, you should know, I didn't kill him. Not yet."  
  
Tokio bit her bottom lip slightly, not knowing exactly how to respond to this news. She had taken it for granted that the return of her husband would mean an end to the nightmarish face that had plagued so many of her thoughts.   
  
"Are you angry with me, Kitty?"  
  
Tokio curled her knees around Saitou's waist and pulled herself up to look into his eyes. Was he...worried? Worried what she would think? No, the idea was preposterous. "Will you see the doctor so you can come home?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I shall be quite cross with you, indeed."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou said with a snort, flipping his wife over onto her back on the desktop. Crouching above her, on his hands and knees, Saitou continued, "And do you think that after traveling the length of Japan, fighting some of the most experienced warriors in the world, and saving the nation from impending doom, I would really so easily give in to your wiles?"   
  
"You can't stay here forever, Hajime," Tokio whispered, grabbing her husband by the belt of his pants and pulling him closer.  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"Because I..." Tokio found herself looking into eyes that seemed to stare far too deeply into her mind. Somehow, he already knew. He was just waiting for her to say it. He just wanted to hear it. "Because, I would miss you."  
  
"Hn," Saitou replied, one of his hands finding Tokio's, their fingers intertwining, "You'd best figure out a way to make me want to come home, then."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chou leaned his head on one fist as he sat in the hallway, trying very hard not to fall asleep. Really, he very much wanted to pass out for about five days straight. That, in fact, was the -real- reason he'd ultimately gone to find Tokio. No one could keep up with the boss. He never slept! All of Lieutenant Fujita's men were just worn the fuck out. They just wanted to go home.  
  
An elderly man slipped out of the door beside Chou, clipboard in hand. Sinking into the chair offered by the officer, the old man shook his head with dismay, the blood having long since drained from his face.  
  
"And how long have they been doing that?"  
  
"'Bout an hour, I reckon, doc." Chou replied, rolling his eyes.  
  
The old man scribbled on his notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Chou. "If he can do that, he's certainly not injured enough to warrant keeping him here. Send him home."  
  
Thank Kami-sama. Chou could finally get some damn sleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapters: Tokio meets the Kenshin-gumi! A battle plan puts many of the characters into mortal danger. Eiji gets poisoned! What about Chou and Naoya? And are the Hachinisasareru still after Tokio? What will Okita think when he hears of Saitou's mission?   
  
***A/N: This chapter wasn't so action packed. I'm so damn excited about the next chapter that I had to force myself not to rush through this one. Still, I think I did the best I could. I didn't want to mess with the beauty of the Kyoto arc too much, but at the same time build...just a bit...on Mr. Watsuki's vision. The results aren't impressive, but they'll hold.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:   
  
I had two -other- endings to the scene with Saitou escaping the fire. In the first one, he gets pulled out by a man who looks like Okita, and who says something cryptic about "Thanks for saving my brother from Battousai all those years ago." Yup. Seichii's ghost rescues him.  
  
In a second scene, I wrote that he gets pulled out of the ravine by a man who looks like Okita, but turns out to be Soujiro. Too wounded to fight the Tenken, Saitou tells him that he'll give him a few years head start to find himself before he comes looking for Soujiro. Then Saitou tells him to get a hobby and suggests taking up raising goldfish.  
  
But, in the end, I decided both of those scenarios were too goofy. It seemed much more probable that Anji would come back one more time to look for survivors after rescuing Houji.   
  
In addition, there are a few fudges in the timeline to make everything fit. I meshed dialogue from the manga translation and the anime translation, hopefully well enough that it doesn't make too big of a difference.  
  
Fudge 1: I've watched the scene a zillion times, and I have no idea how Saitou would have had enough time to escape. However, we know that Anji saved Houji, and that had to take time too, so I gave them about 3 minutes from the time the bridge initially collapsed.  
  
Fudge 2: In the manga, from what I understand, there is absolutely -nothing- left after Shishio and Yumi burn. But, I don't care how hot a human body gets, you're not going to be able to melt Shishio's sword and Yumi's tanto, so I left those laying about along with some ashes, so Yumi could get buried.   
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Mishima Eiji: Most of the stories I have seen have Eiji immediately taking to Saitou and Tokio and becoming very happy with his new home right away. I thought it would be more appropriate for him to mourn a little before warming up to his new surroundings.   
  
In the story, Eiji doesn't really have much of a "personality" to speak of. So, I resorted to making him as normal of a 10 year old boy as I could. Since I don't know any 10 year old boys, I may have missed the mark.   
  
Sawagejou Chou: If you watch the anime, and listen close, Chou doesn't call Yumi "Miss Yumi" like the translation says. He calls her "Yumi-neesan" While this could just be a provincial form of address from the sword collector from Kansai, I decided the two were actually related.   
  
Speaking of which, there is absolutely no way that I can write an English impression of the strange Kansai accident. So, in the end, I just made Chou speak like Naoya does when she thinks Tokio isn't watching.   
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Sakuramoti or Sakura Moti: From what I understand, these are treats made during cherry blossom season. The recipe I found online has crushed glutinous rice wrapped around red bean jam and rolled in a salted cherry tree leaf. The picture I have makes them look light pink.  
  
Sudare-atama: Bamboo blind face/head.   
  
Rouchin: Obvious from the text, but: this is Usui's bizarre spear weapon.   
  
***Review Notes:   
  
Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. I apologize profusely for torturing you with my Hello Kitty joke! I'm very excited that we are now on the other side of the Kyoto arc and heading towards the home stretch. The most exciting part, however, is yet to come!  
  
I want to thank you so very much for the time that you take to leave a review. It always brightens my day to see them in my mailbox, even if they are criticisms! So a very extra special thankyou to: crystal (I hope you decide to do the picture), wazup, Rose1216, I ATE THE LOTUS (So sorry! No more puns, I promise.) Wolfgirl, ChiisaiLammy, JadeGoddess, and zagato.  
  
fujifunmum: Glad you liked the pun. Chuckle. I guess I feel like I struggle on the romance scenes, because so many of the other stories I read just have such mind-blowingly good descriptions of makeout scenes. Mine seem so lackluster in comparison. But, I think they work out OK enough in the end. :D  
  
Pinetar: Thanks for reading. Took you a whole week to read? Wowzers. Anyway, I think writing Saitou is a lot like baking a pie. It is very easy to mess up the recipe (which, I suppose I should be worried, since I can't cook). I've seen many portrayals that I think are much more on the money than mine. But, frankly, I've seen others that were just -bad-. Oh! I do like Kenshin, very much. I just find Saitou very interesting.  
  
IceRain: *sticks a thermometer in Saitou* Is your blood warm? Oh shit. This man's been dead from the Bakumatsu! *looks around and finds Hiko controlling Saitou's puppet strings* You did this just to torture your baka deshi, didn't you?  
  
vegetachanlover: Thank you for your review. I didn't really set out to make Kenshin look like a "bad guy", and we may see a different side of him soon.   
  
haku baikou: I'm a ninja fan, what can I say?   
  
kakashi-fan: Yes. The story does have an end. Right now I am hoping that chapters 15 and 16 are the climax, and 17 and 18 will tie up the ending. But, there may be an extra chapter in between the two sections if I run too verbose. Your review actually hit on the -one- thing I have not yet figured out for the story: What is Saitou doing in Hokkaido? I guess I had better figure that out soon!  
  
LSR-7: Thanks for your info about youkan!! I didn't know. I had a picture and a recipe, but you can't really get the -texture- from it. I wish I had a place that I could find to try some, but I live in a very small town in the south of the United States. We are just lucky to have a sushi restaurant!  
  
Starkitty Angel: I'm glad you liked the poem. I thought it wouldn't work, and people might be like "WTF?" Is your "Angst fic" about RK? If so, I hope to read it when you are finished!  
  
Shimizu Hitomi: I'm glad you liked the poem. I did write it, but it took me about an hour. I'm not a very good poet, personally. You are one of only two who commented on the "Is that a katana in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" bit. I thought it was funny, but I didn't know if anyone else would.  
  
bonessasan: Well! We will find out in the next chapter what Tokio thinks of the Kenshingumi and what they think of her. But really, how could any sane person -not- like Kenshin upon meeting him? Its like saying you hate puppies.  
  
AiteanE: I think I stole the idea for "excruciating bliss" from a story I once read where the monsters were "horrifyingly beautiful". Anyway, I end up putting a lot of humor in my romance scenes, because I think a couple that can laugh together while making out. And, we are -definitely- working up to something, and that will be the next two chapters. Which, I probably shouldn't say that, just in case they really -suck-.   
  
darktenshi: I am sorry you were feeling ill. I hope you are feeling better now! Yeah, I think my fingers would fall off if I tried to transcribe the entire Kyoto arc.   
  
Animyth: Well, I said 20, but now I am predicting more around 18 or 19. I'm also, hopefully, going to post an extensive appendix with all my references and character profiles. Glad you liked...sorta....the pun!  
  
Cat, Avatar for the DCG: Glad you're back! And I'm glad you "liked" the jokes. Anyway, I'm currently thinking that my next story will be about Okita and Soujirou (the logistics are quite amusing), but it will portray a different Okita than the one seen in H&T, most likely.  
  
Cherry Delight: Thank goodness you are back! I thought I might have run you off! Well, I don't know for certain that I have lost readers. A few Saitou purists seem to be angry with the way I have portrayed him. I really don't mean to put in too much OOCness, but I guess some slips in. Anyway, I hope school is going well for you! And I am sending mad mojo in the direction of your internet connection to keep it well fastened!  
  
***What? Notes:  
  
No jokes this time around. Should I post my "The difference between Shishio and Shishou" sketch? 


	15. Chapter 15: The Coiled Snake

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 15 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
An Apple caused mans' fall, as some believe;  
But that old Snake, malevolently wise,  
  
A deadlier snare set when he left to Eve  
  
His tongue of honey and mesmeric eyes.   
  
--The Serpent, Victor J. Daley  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The houses on Miraiyu street were nothing like the ones on Taito street. Not that Taito street possessed excessive splendor by any means. No. The houses on Miraiyu street merely seemed a little smaller, a little older, and were built just a little closer together.   
  
Perhaps the most remarkable feature of the houses on Miraiyu street did not belong to the structures themselves. The entire line of buildings faced a wide creek that fed into the Kandagawa river. Because of the creek's propensity for flooding during the rainy season, many of the small houses had been built on raised stilts, creating a favorite shaded hiding place for pets, children, and many a snake. It was the latter which had Okita Souji down on his hands and knees in front of his new house, poking fruitlessly into the darkness with a stick.  
  
"Is there a point to what you are doing, Okita?" Saitou said, walking up the pathway, "Because you look like a goddamn idiot."  
  
"Ah! Saitou-kun, you've returned," Okita replied, pulling himself out from underneath the house, barely missing smacking his head on the ledge. "What do you think of my new palace? I've never really had my own home."  
  
Saitou regarded the house for a moment. The ramshackle building seemed to be listing slightly to the left on the eastern side. In addition, the thatched roof bore an obscene amount of tangled moss which dangled down at odd intervals, creating a scattered lace curtain around the engawa. The wood which composed the building's side had long since warped and bent with the moisture from the nearby water. And, the yard, what there was of it, had grown wild with weeds fed off the nutrients of the passing creek. All in all, the place was a dump.  
  
"It is a shithole, Okita. Thank god my sister took care of you, or you would have ended up living in a ditch." Saitou's eyes narrowed at the stick in Okita's hand, offering the question again without words.  
  
"Hai, hai," Okita replied dismissively, tossing the stick to the side, "There's a snake down there I want."  
  
"If you are that stuck for food, I am certain that my wife would be more than happy to feed you."  
  
"No, no, no." Okita threw up his hands, declining the offer of having food stuffed down his throat until he collapsed in pain. "I'm going to raise them. Snakes, that is. In the back. Interesting species. Essentially decent creatures, ridding the world of plague-carrying rats and mice, keeping to themselves unless disturbed, remarkably strong and clever, but at the same time, rather weak of body. Tragically misunderstood, I think."  
  
"Hn." Saitou grunted, as per usual when his friend went on about something that appeared to have no relevance to practical reality. Changing the subject, he replied, "I've come to return your katana."  
  
"Oh," Souji said, stepping up onto the engawa. "I see. I'm afraid I'd offer you tea, but I haven't any. And I decline to offer you sake. I fear my house isn't reinforced enough for such a debacle."  
  
"I didn't realize you were a drinking man, Okita. You used to abstain so vehemently." Saitou followed Okita up the steps and into the one-room house. The dust hanging in clumps from the ceiling, and the permeating smell of mold paid testament to the fact that the house's new owner hadn't yet cleaned. Or hadn't wanted to clean.   
  
"I wasn't, until a few weeks ago. I tried it for a while to pass the time and found it thoroughly unamusing. There were no more answers in the bottom of a sake cup than anywhere else I'd looked."  
  
Okita offered Saitou a seat on the (thankfully) relatively clean tatami and lit a small lantern to fight off the gathering dusk. He left the shoji open, however, giving the pair a view of a few children attempting to catch fireflies near the passing creek.  
  
"You know, Okita," Saitou said, keeping his eyes focused on the flowing water, "You can always come work for me."  
  
"You know I won't," Souji replied with a small sigh, smiling though both men knew the sentiment to be empty, "Though I thank you for the offer. I've already decided what I must do. And, really, I rather look forward to it. You'll see, Saitou-kun. Don't worry about me. I've looked into the waters of time and decided how best to irrigate many fields."  
  
Kami-sama but Souji could be astoundingly cryptic when he wanted. Saitou tried his best not to roll his eyes. Instead, he pulled the katana from the sheath at his side and held it horizontally, balancing the blade on the back of his hand as he returned the sword to Souji's care.   
  
"You didn't kill him," Souji said softly, turning away from his friend to return the katana to its proper sheath and place it on just about the only decent piece of furniture in the room, a lacquered black sword stand that had been with Okita since his days in the Shinsengumi.   
  
"No," Saitou replied frankly, "There was no opportunity to do so honorably. How did you know?"  
  
"Ah. The same way I know about the snake under my house. I feel them both, curled up upon themselves, hoping desperately that no one will push them so far as to require them to strike with the full force of their abilities." Okita turned back to his friend as a firefly dove into the open shoji, flitting about the room as if the curious discovery of the indoors caused unimaginable excitement. "And the other?"  
  
"Shishio is dead. Consumed by flames produced by his own body. We've captured most of what remained of the Juppon Gatana. Those who escaped should be no trouble. Except, perhaps, for Soujiro no Tenken. One of those who turned himself in said that Okubo-kyo's assassin decided to become a wanderer. I expect he'll turn up in a few years."  
  
"Mmm," Okita replied, seemingly at a loss for words for once. Pressing his hands together, Okita touched his lips to his fingertips as his eyes closed. "How did Tokio-san take the news?"  
  
Saitou grit his teeth slightly. "She'll be fine." But, the words were too forced, more of a command than an observance.  
  
The firefly, fascinated with its brother light shining from the lamp dipped a bit too close. A spark of flame caught the enraptured insect and burned it into nothingness.  
  
"You have seen it too, then?"  
  
"Aa. I know her too well," Saitou replied, pulling his box of cigarettes from his pocket. He withdrew one, but did not bring out his matches. Instead, he turned the white stick over and over in his gloved fingers. His wife was hiding something. She had been since he returned from Kyoto. Whatever it was, it had to do with the Battousai. His wife wasn't a talkative person, but she had been even more silent than usual on the subject of Saitou's nemesis. And she'd been smiling, all the time. At first Saitou had passed it off as relief that the ordeal was over. Or perhaps some sort of amusement to be taking care of Eiji and doing so well with her new enterprise in the marketplace.   
  
But, when even Naoya had approached him, asking if Tokio was alright, Saitou knew something was going on. According to the rat-girl, Tokio spent an entire afternoon crying in the back room of Snowflake Sweets. When questioned about it, Tokio had told Naoya that she'd merely been reading a horribly sad novel. A lie, and not even a very good one. Tokio hated reading anything besides recipes and letters, and occasionally the society section of the newspaper.  
  
Noticing the growing scowl on his friend's face, Okita changed the subject, "And the boy?"  
  
"He'll receive the small pension his brother earned from dying in the line of duty. If he still wants, in a year or two, we'll use the money to send him to Osaka to train under Kozue. But for right now..."  
  
"Yes," Okita replied, gazing out of the shoji. Despite the fact that he smiled, an overwhelming sadness seemed to reflect from the creek to his eyes. "Let him be a child for now. Of all the atrocities I have seen in my life, that one proves the most condemning, to rob a soul of the joys and innocence of youth."  
  
Saitou raised an eyebrow, "Do you speak of yourself?"  
  
"And Tokio. And Eiji. If you think about it, Ienobu and Battousai, too. And you, Saitou-kun?"  
  
"No," Saitou replied, standing up and heading outdoors to light his cigarette. "No, Okita, I was born without innocence. I've always known exactly what evil exists in this world. It is the one difference between you and I. For innocence is the virtue I'll never possess."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
And so time passed for our friends. The summer deepened and spread sticky-hot fingers over the streets and alleys of Tokyo. Springtime's blossoms turned to rot by the roadsides. And the sounds of birds were soon replaced by the croaking of frogs and the rhythmic whirring of cicadas.  
  
In late July, Saitou left again, this time to investigate an arms dealer by the name of Yukishiro Enishi. Chou, proving himself moderately useful, had been able to procure a suitable replacement for Saitou's katana. It, too, had no name, but the markings at the base of the hilt declared it to be of the same maker.   
  
Saitou, did not, however, tell his wife of Battousai's involvement in the case. Nor did she, strangely enough, ask anything at all about what he was leaving to do. The morning he left, Tokio merely sat at the low table in the front room, practicing her calligraphy over and over and over again.  
  
Okita watched over Tokio, Naoya and Eiji whilst Saitou was gone, but save for those few weeks, Souji rarely showed up at the house on Taito street, or at Snowflake Sweets. When he did, he looked exceedingly tired, so much so that he hardly even appeared to have the energy to wear more than a ghost of a smile.  
  
Naoya, too, sunk into a funk, though hers seemed to be punctuated more by expletives than anything else. Before they left, Officer Chou had somehow found a reason to come by Snowflake Sweets at least twice a week. When he'd leave, Naoya would always escort him to the other side of the square, where they'd stop, Chou would say something, Naoya would laugh like a hyena, and then return to the shop. If Tokio had known that Chou was telling Naoya jokes so dirty they'd make a sailor pale, she probably wouldn't have let him in the shop anymore. But, the absence of the odd looking man from Kansai caused the teenager to become far more surly than usual.  
  
The only one of the group who remained unaffected by the cloud of depression was Eiji, who grew less glum and withdrawn by the day. He made several friends among the children of the marketplace vendors, and spent his mornings catching frogs, turtles, and crickets in a nearby creek. The children would then race whatever they caught, betting baubles and candies on the winners. Hot afternoons were spent lazing around Snowflake Sweets, making origami creatures and playing official taster to whatever Tokio and Naoya might be cooking.  
  
Saitou and Chou returned on August 12, 1878.  
  
It was one week later that all hell broke loose.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
August 19, 1878. Afternoon.  
  
Tokio looked up at the half-sky created by the awning of Snowflake Sweets. Even in the shade, the heat bordered on sadistic. 'Not a cloud to be found,' Tokio mused, 'They must be hiding from the sun as fervently as we.'  
  
Tokio and Naoya sat on stools against the flat of the shop wall, both ladies fanning themselves as steadily as they had all afternoon. Due to the weather, most sane individuals had opted to stay out of the market, deciding instead to find whatever cool spot of shade they could.   
  
Eiji, perhaps more used to spending his days in the blistering heat, crouched on the wooden patio in front of the women, working ravenously on his newest project, a kite. If he finished by the end of next week, he would be able to participate with the other children in helping to open a festive kite exhibition in a nearby park.   
  
"It's looking very nice, Eiji," Tokio noted, stopping her fan for a second, "I have a few ribbon scraps you can use for the tails, when you wish."  
  
Eiji looked up and smiled, "It's going to be a dragon, you know."  
  
"It looks more like a frog," Naoya replied, tilting her head to the side, "Or maybe a snake."  
  
"Well, any of those are still better than what Kiyoshi-kun is making. His is a butterfly because his little sister pestered him not to make an owl, like he wanted. I'm so going to laugh at him."  
  
"Isn't it kind of the kite makers to allow the children to open the ceremony?" Tokio mused to herself, smiling the same empty smile that had been gracing her face for weeks.   
  
"Oh, it's a very serious thing, Auntie Tokio," Eiji said gravely, "They are going to judge them. And the owner of the best one gets to meet Masakazu Hidu. He's the most famous kite-maker in the whole country, you know."  
  
Tokio merely nodded in reply. Eiji, had, in fact, already related this knowledge to her several times over the past few days. 'I hope he doesn't get his hopes up too much,' Tokio thought sadly as she resumed fanning herself, 'Such a kind boy surely doesn't yet realize how hoping for happiness almost always results in being left wanting. I suppose he is much stronger than I, though. Already he has begun to carry himself with a confidence which I could never conceive for myself after losing my parents."  
  
In the distance, a piercing shriek echoed through the marketplace. The three figures on the low porch of Snowflake Sweets all looked up from their private thoughts and activities and regarded the disruption. Across the square, a petite figure in a light purple kimono appeared to be screaming at a local tea vendor.  
  
"You sold me the wrong kind! You said that this was the highest quality maccha, first flush from Shizuoka! But, I tried it and it is just bancha swill. It even has stems in it. You can't have stems in maccha! You're a thief!"  
  
Eiji stood up from his spot on the porch as Naoya leaned over to Tokio and said, "That's the third time this week, isn't it?"  
  
Tokio only nodded sagely in reply. The tea vendor always tried to pass off lower quality tea to anyone who looked gullible enough.   
  
Suddenly, a group of very familiar people started encircling the screaming girl, fruitlessly attempting to calm her and keep her from striking the vendor in question. The girl pulled at her long bangs and wailed so loudly the entire market could hear her end of the conversation, "But, that's all the money I brought to buy Aoshi-sama's tea! It was supposed to be special! It was supposed to be a gift! What am I going to do -now-?"  
  
Tokio lifted one eyebrow to look at Naoya, who returned the exact same expression. The people standing around the girl were none other than the Hitokiri Battousai and his infamous friends. In their surprise, however, neither Tokio nor Naoya noticed that Eiji had stepped off the porch and started walking towards them.  
  
"Misao?" Eiji asked, though it was apparent that the young woman could not hear him over the racket she was making. So, Eiji tried a different tactic. "Itachi-onna!"  
  
Misao's head swiveled around so fast her braid caught Sanosuke in the face. Sputtering wildly, the ex-gangster wiped at his mouth, muttering something about, "Gross. Weasel hair."  
  
"Eiji-chan?" Misao mouthed, suddenly forgetting about the incident with the tea vendor. "Hey there, Eiji-chan! What are you doing here?"  
  
Eiji rolled his eyes and replied. "I live here."  
  
Back on the porch, Naoya and Tokio sat dumbfounded. Tokio watched as Eiji greeted not only the screaming girl, but appeared to have a few words for Battousai, as well.  
  
"How does he know..." Naoya began, her eyes growing wide with concern. The teenager stood up, ready to dart off the porch and scoop up the boy at any sign of trouble.  
  
"I'm not certain." Tokio's free hand had already placed itself atop the scarf around her neck. "But, it looks like they are coming this way."  
  
"Go inside, Tokio-san, I'll tell them you aren't feeling well."  
  
"No, Naoya," Tokio whispered, forcing her hand to return to her lap. "I want to look into the eyes of this man. I want to see for myself if he carries any shame for what he has done. The see if he understands the repercussions of the death he wrought with his blade, if he knows that sadness still lingers because of his actions."  
  
Halfway across the square, Misao scrunched up her face and repeated the last words Eiji had just said, "Fujita Tokio? You mean, the wolf's wife?"  
  
While Kaoru and Sanosuke both blinked in complete surprise, their mouths falling open as if they were fish waiting to be fed, Yahiko's eyes narrowed. "Fujita. Fujita...Tokio. Fujita...Goro. Oh. CRAP!"  
  
"What is it, Yahiko?" Kenshin asked quietly, giving a small smile to Eiji. The boy was looking so much better, and after only two months. He appeared to be well cared-for, wearing a new set of gi and hakama. The scrawny kid from Shingetsu had even begun to fill out a bit, likely from being fed on a regular basis.  
  
Yahiko's hand struck his own forehead. "It's such a common name. How was I to know that Fujita Tokio was Saitou's wife?"  
  
"I gotta see this," Sanosuke declared, grabbing Misao by the wrist to keep the aptly named 'weasel girl' from lingering near the tea vendor. Much more interaction between Misao and the object of her ire would likely only result in a flurry of kunai.   
  
"Huh?" Eiji said. Suddenly, a brief conversation he'd had with Okita-san only two months prior filtered back into the forefront of his mind. "No, I don't think that..."  
  
"Oh, come on, Eiji-chan," Misao whined, "Introduce us."  
  
As the group headed towards Snowflake Sweets, Kenshin looked down at Eiji and said, "Eiji-chan, it's good to see you again, it is."  
  
Kaoru offered the boy a small smile as well, having heard the entire story of the tragedy at Shingetsu from Misao. Eiji replied, "Ano, good to see you, too."  
  
Though, at that point, he really looked like he doubted it would be good for long.  
  
"Ano, Tokio-san," Eiji mumbled as the group arrived, his face turning sheepish with the knowledge of his error, "I'd like you to meet some...friends...of mine. They, uh, helped save my village. You know, with Fujita-san."  
  
Tokio said nothing to this. Her fan continued to flutter rhythmically at her face, as amber eyes focused on one figure and one figure alone. The smile which had graced her face for weeks fell away into nothingness as the woman became an impassive stone sculpture.   
  
"This is Himura-san, and Misao-chan, and...I'm afraid I don't know the rest."  
  
Kaoru stepped forward to Eiji's rescue. "I'm Kamiya Kaoru. The tall one here is Sagara Sanosuke, and this is Yahiko."  
  
Tokio's eyes bored into Kenshin's skull, probing the man for any sign of recognition. Here he was, standing before her, smiling as innocently and brightly as Okita Souji might do when he hoped that one of his silly jokes would make her laugh. Battousai. Smiling. It was just....-wrong-. 'He shouldn't be allowed to smile. He shouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as the good people of Tokyo.'  
  
Naoya coughed slightly at the growing silence, drawing Tokio's attention away from the red-headed man.  
  
"Yes," Tokio finally whispered, her eyes moving liquidly towards Kaoru's face. "Myojin-san and I are acquainted."  
  
"Myojin...san?" Kaoru repeated, dumbfounded. The rest of her friends echoed the sentiment by all turning to look at Yahiko, who shrugged.   
  
"What? Can't I know people besides you, busu?"  
  
Fire burned in Kaoru's eyes, and a hand inched behind her back as if searching for some sort of weapon that should have been stashed nearby.   
  
Tokio, however, bowed her head forward and whispered, quietly even for her, "This is my assistant, Meshibe Naoya."  
  
"Huh?" Sanosuke said, "What? What did she say? I can't hear a damn word she says."  
  
As Tokio stood, her hands pressed together in front of her obi, she looked at Eiji, who currently didn't possess the courage to look back. "Eiji, won't you invite your friends to stay for tea?"  
  
"Auntie Tokio, I...."  
  
"No, please, Eiji-chan. We must show our appreciation towards the ones who helped save your village." Tokio's face, however, looked more lifeless than appreciative. Turning to enter the shop, she whispered, "It is the least we can do."  
  
"Why can't I hear a damn word she says? Is she even talking?" Sano asked again.   
  
Naoya scowled frightfully, adjusting her obi for the tenth time that day. Her nose in the air, she declared, "Tokio-san's voice was injured when she was a little girl." A look of death was shot towards the red-headed rurouni who had remained silent throughout the introductions, "She can't speak above a whisper."  
  
"How sad!" Kaoru exclaimed. "If I couldn't yell, sometimes, I don't know what I would do."  
  
"Life would certainly be a lot more tolerable without you screeching all the time," Yahiko replied.  
  
"Why you little..."  
  
"Maa, maa," the grinning rurouni finally interjected. His voice caused Naoya to flinch. He certainly didn't sound at all like she expected. "Your voice is quite nice, it is, Kaoru-dono." Stepping forward, Kenshin nodded at Eiji, "Please tell Tokio-dono that tea would be quite nice, Eiji-chan."  
  
Eiji, who had turned incredibly pale in the last few moments, muttered something akin to "Great" and scurried inside.  
  
This left only Naoya to entertain the guests at Snowflake Sweets. The teenager crossed her arms at her chest and said nothing, forcing the group to start the conversation on their own.  
  
"So, Tokio-dono works here in the market?"  
  
Naoya glared incredulously. This guy wasn't scary. He was just -stupid-.  
  
"What sort of shop is this?" Sanosuke asked, stepping onto the porch and peering into the door. "Hey! This shop is full of cake and candy."  
  
Correction, they were -all- stupid.   
  
"I still can't believe Saitou is married," Misao muttered to Kaoru. "Of all the bizarre things in the world, who'd want a man like that?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know, Misao," Kaoru replied, "Perhaps you should ask Aoshi when you get home."  
  
Misao, not getting the joke, only nodded furiously. Of course. Aoshi-sama knew everything.  
  
Eiji returned only few moments later, dragging a bench and extra stools. After the group had set these up to their satisfaction, Naoya excused herself inside to help Tokio bring out the tea.   
  
"Are you doing well now, Eiji?" Kenshin asked, taking a seat on the bench, Kaoru beside him.   
  
"Aa." Eiji plopped down on his corner of the porch and said little else. He cast several sidelong glances at the group as he returned to working on his kite.  
  
"That's a pretty good kite," Yahiko said, crouching down near Eiji. "Is it a snake?"  
  
"No. A dragon. Snakes can't fly, anyway. They just slither around on the ground, waiting for their prey to come to them. Not like dragons, which seek out their victims from high in the sky."  
  
Tokio and Naoya re-emerged from the shop, between them carrying enough tea and cake to satisfy ten Juppon Gatanas. These were placed on a small folding table as the women began to pour for their guests.  
  
"And, how do you take your tea, Himura-san?" Tokio whispered, pressing her fingers together in front of her obi as she leveled her gaze at the man.  
  
"Oh! Oh!" Naoya exclaimed, almost spilling the tea she handed to Kaoru. "Tokio-san can tell everything about a person, just by how they take their tea."  
  
"Yeah?" Sanosuke leaned against one of the posts on the porch. "I had an aunt once who claimed she could tell everything about a person by looking at their tongue. She was a damn fruit bat."  
  
Kaoru shot a glance at the tall man, warning him to pipe down. "Can you really, Tokio-san?"  
  
Tokio nodded and waited for Kenshin's response.   
  
"Sessha takes it with honey, when possible."  
  
"So ka?" Tokio replied, raising one eloquent eyebrow at the rurouni. After dribbling the honey into the murky green liquid, Tokio lifted the small cup and balanced it on the very tips of two extended fingers, handing it to Kenshin. As the man took the teacup, Tokio hissed, "A man who covers his tea with the taste of honey can only be hiding from something. I find it is most usually himself."  
  
Perhaps Tokio removed her fingers too quickly. Or perhaps merely the tone of her whisper startled the man, but the teacup began to descend rapidly towards the porch. Tokio's hand flipped over with incredible grace, catching the falling container on the backs of the same two fingers. "Do be careful, won't you, Himura-san? There are many things that, once spilt, cannot be replaced."  
  
After giving Kenshin a demure smile, Tokio turned back to her task.   
  
Kaoru looked down at the tea Naoya had handed her, "Oh! Do me, Tokio-san, I like my tea with just a drop of warm milk."  
  
Tokio regarded Kaoru for quite a few moments. Yes. The Kamiya girl. Tokio had forgotten all about her. So fresh and young and...so very innocent and happy-looking. Could this man, this horrible man who assaulted Tokio's thoughts on a daily basis...possibly make her smile? Yes. It was obvious that she smiled for him. It was evident in the way she sat so close, in the way looked at him. As if she thought...she could protect -him-.   
  
"A lady who takes just a drop or two of milk in her tea shows great care. The milk protects the delicate glass from being shattered by overly hot tea. It means you will be a good mother, Kaoru-san."  
  
Kaoru blushed profusely, staring into her cup to avoid the stares of everyone else on the porch. "Well, I don't..."  
  
"I prefer sake," Sanosuke announced, declining the tea Naoya was holding out in his direction. "And I don't care what that says about me."  
  
Misao jabbed an elbow into the ribs of the tall man in response. "It means you're a useless layabout."  
  
Tokio motioned for Naoya to sit and began to pass around some of the white-bean jam and raisin monaka made earlier in the day. "Please eat as many as you wish. We certainly won't be able to sell all we made. Not in this horrid weather."  
  
Kaoru picked up one of the small wavers and nibbled on it delicately, "My goodness. These are..."  
  
"Really good!" Yahiko finished, cramming as many of the treats into his mouth at one time as he could.   
  
Eiji just laughed at the other boy and picked up only one. "Careful, Yahiko-chan. Auntie Tokio's ultimate plan is to cause all of Japan to explode from overeating."  
  
Sanosuke picked up one wafer as well, staring at it with deep curiosity. 'She is Saitou's wife. What if this is some sort of trick? What if they are poisoned?'  
  
A voice from Sanosuke's past, a whispered voice, replied, 'Actually, it -is- poisoned.' Sano shivered, but couldn't remember where he had heard those words before. Nonetheless, he decided right then and there that Fujita Tokio was at least as creepy as her husband.  
  
"So," Tokio whispered, at last drawing her own cup of tea and taking her place on her stool. "I take it, then, that you are acquainted with my husband, Himura-san and Misao-chan?"  
  
"Yes. We accompanied him on one of his recent missions, we did," Kenshin said. Now it was his turn to scrutinize Tokio. The woman's catlike eyes hardly ever looked away from him. Was she just curious about his appearance, or was there something more? Exactly how much had Saitou told her? Did she know about her husband's past? About his past? Kenshin's danger sense told him something was out of sorts. Something with this woman's ki was...off. Tilted. What was it?  
  
"How terribly exciting. Are you with the police as well?"  
  
"No. Sessha is...sessha was..."  
  
Yahiko chirped, "Kenshin is a great swordsman. Best in all of Japan!"  
  
Tokio lifted a small leaf of sliced ginger off the tray and placed it into her teacup. "Is that so? And here I was led to believe that my husband held that particular title. Well, no matter. It is good that the two of you work together then. It would be devastating if two such great swordsmen came to blows."  
  
Sanosuke opened his mouth as if to say something, but found Misao's hand already clamped over his lips. "Yes. That would be bad, wouldn't it?" the genki girl replied.  
  
"Tokio-san," Kaoru murmured softly, desperately wishing to change the subject, "Just now you put ginger in your tea. What does that mean about you?"  
  
"Ah. Ginger cleanses the palate. In one's tea it expresses a desire for the end of bitterness and a renewal of one's spirit."  
  
"What a lovely sentiment!" Kaoru exclaimed. "I think, perhaps, next time, I will try ginger in my tea."  
  
The tea progressed from that point without much more of interest. Eiji explained about the kite contest, pointing out, yet again, that his kite was definitely a dragon, and not a snake. Misao extolled the virtues of Shinomori Aoshi, a man who, from what Tokio could deduce, was either the girl's guardian or her direct superior at some sort of posh restaurant in Kyoto.  
  
As the group finally gathered themselves to take their leave, Kaoru drew Tokio aside, and the two spoke in hushed tones for several minutes before returning.   
  
"It has been quite lovely, Tokio-dono, thank you for the tea."  
  
"Yes, thank-you," Kaoru added.  
  
"You are quite welcome. Do come again, hm? Friends of my husband are certainly smiled upon at my shop, any time."  
  
Both Yahiko and Sano, thankfully, had their backs turned to Tokio, allowing them both to freely make faces expressing their overwhelming disgust.  
  
When the group moved away from Snowflake Sweets, Naoya began to pick up cups left behind by the departing guests. "Ano, Tokio-san..." the girl began, looking up at her mentor who stood on the edge of the porch, watching the retreat of the man she hated above all else, "Just wondering, but, how does Fujita-san take his tea?"  
  
"Plain," Tokio whispered dryly, "Because it gives nothing away."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kaoru held her small yellow bag in front of her kimono, walking cheerfully beside her friends as they returned to the dojo. Well, all of them except Misao, who had run off in a last ditch attempt to find something to replace the bad tea she'd bought for Aoshi.  
  
"Tokio-san was nice, don't you think? I'm glad we met her."  
  
Yahiko gawked openly at his instructor, almost tripping on a large rock in the road. "You have to be kidding me, busu! Argh. You're so stupid."  
  
"I'm not stupid," Kaoru said with a small pout.  
  
"You don't get it, do you?" Yahiko sighed, as if he had to explain -everything-. "She's a spy. She works for her husband keeping an eye on the marketplace."  
  
Kaoru pouted slightly, a confused look gracing her face. "I don't think that could be possibly true. Not a woman like her. She's so refined. Did you see how she handled those teacups?"  
  
"Well, I don't like her, either." Sanosuke declared, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "That woman is creepy, and she certainly can't be trusted. You have to be deranged in the head to marry Saitou, just for -starters-."  
  
"Yes, but, Sano, you don't trust anyone. You two. I swear, I thought you were better judges of character." Kaoru looked towards the one person who had remained silent during their walk. "Kenshin, you think Tokio-san is nice, don't you?"  
  
The diminutive man in the pink gi dipped his head a bit, hiding his face. "Well. Sessha..." There had definitely been something -wrong- with Saitou Tokio. But Kenshin just couldn't put his finger on it. "Sessha thinks it would be best to be careful, it would. Tokio-dono may not be what she seems."  
  
"Not you, too!" Kaoru put her hands on her hips and stopped in the street, "Well, you had all better get used to the idea of Saitou Tokio being around."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"She's going to be coming over on Tuesday and Thursday mornings to teach me how to make some of her cakes and candies."  
  
"Great," Yahiko groaned. "I'm -so- not going to be the taste tester for that project."  
  
"Jou-chan's cooking is far more frightening than fighting Shishio," Sano added.  
  
"Aaaarggh!" Kaoru's bokken appeared as if from nowhere. "If you don't like it then..."  
  
"Maa, maa," Kenshin said, in an attempt to prevent the fight. "Your cooking is very useful, Kaoru-dono. Why, if you hadn't been feeding him all week, I'm certain Enishi would have been twice as strong when sessha fought him, he would."  
  
"Himura Kenshin! You're going to get it now!" Kaoru yelled, lunging at the rurouni with her bokken, producing a very large lump on his head.  
  
"Ororororooooo."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So ka?"  
  
Eiji nodded furiously at Saitou as he stood up from his perch on the engawa, dusting off the back of his hakama. Around them, the night air brought with it relief from the sweltering day. The stars above twinkled their undying approval for the night's clarity.  
  
Saitou regarded the little boy who had just given him the news of his wife's meeting with Himura Battousai and friends. Eiji's face glowed pale in the moonlight, awash with worry and sleepiness. In fact, the boy -had- been dozing off as Saitou came up the walkway.  
  
"That was this afternoon," Eiji said, stifling a yawn, "And when we got home, she went into the kitchen, and she hasn't come out since then. I looked in on her a few times, but she was crying and she told me to leave."  
  
"Hn." So, Tokio had met the man. And now she was, ostensibly, falling to pieces in the kitchen. "Go to bed, Eiji."  
  
"It's all my fault, Fujita-san. I completely forgot what Okita-san told me until it was too late." The little boy rubbed at his eyes as he turned to enter the house. "Please tell Auntie Tokio how sorry I am. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."  
  
"They live in the same city, Eiji. It was bound to occur eventually."  
  
Eiji bit his bottom lip and disappeared into the house, followed shortly by Saitou. The tall man removed his gloves, katana, and outer shirt, noticing that, for the first time in a long time, Tokio was not there to take them and put them away.   
  
When things went terribly wrong with his wife, he always seemed to come home to someone waiting on his porch. At least Kozue and Okita were grown men. Eiji was a mere boy, one who had just gone through tragedy. He certainly didn't need Tokio's problems on top of his own.  
  
Saitou stalked down the hallway and opened the kitchen shoji.   
  
Tokio sat on the floor, her back against the unlit stove, her knees drawn up to her chest. Sharp fragments of unbound hair fell around her darkened visage, obscuring the feline features of his wife's face: her deep set eyes, the tiny mouth that barely moved, even when she spoke. No tears wet her delicate skin, but as Tokio looked up, it was not hard to discern how long, and hard, she had been crying.  
  
"Tokio," Saitou said, shutting the shoji behind him. "What do you think you are doing?"  
  
"I'm mourning, Hajime. I understand the concept may be foreign to you." She said it not as an accusation, but more as an observation. This difference between her personality and her husband's had always caused the most tension between them. She mourned for their lost children. He did not. She mourned for the loved ones she had lost to war. He would not. And she even mourned for his sister when he, in fact, could not.  
  
"Eiji told you." The whisper floated in the air, so tellingly palpable it could have been caught and packaged as a novel.   
  
Saitou leaned against the wall, his arms crossed at his chest, one leg bent at the knee, placing his foot against the wall. "Aa," he replied, his lips curling even deeper into a lugubrious frown. "What are you doing, Tokio? I know you are planning something. I can smell it on your skin. I can hear it in the way you sigh in your sleep. See it in the way your eyes tremble with fear every time I leave for work in the morning. Goddamnit, Tokio, whatever you are doing, stop. Himura Battousai is a dangerous man. His friends are dangerous people. This is a matter to be decided by law and men. Not by some meddling woman."  
  
Tokio slapped one hand on the floor, looking up at her husband with tightly drawn lips. "Law? And men? I have waited twelve years for justice. You would not wait so long, Hajime. Is that not the truth of your creed, 'Aku, Soku, Zan'? -Immediately-. Is it not what you say?"  
  
"There is a difference between justice and revenge. I fight to protect this country, to protect a way of life, to uplift an ideal of honor, dignity, and virtue for all people. I fight so that women such as yourself can walk to the marketplace in the morning unmolested by thieves, so that children such as Eiji can play without fear of abduction, so that young women like Naoya aren't forcibly pressed into the service of brothels. No, Tokio. My creed does not apply to you. It has never, and will never serve a selfish wish for revenge."  
  
"You wish him dead as fervently as I." Tokio grabbed the edge of the stove, pulling herself up. Her ki struck Saitou suddenly, the shocking realization that her very spirit seemed torn from her body. His wife's very essence coiled in the corner, drawing in upon itself, like a snake curled into a tight ball a moment before it sprung at unsuspecting prey. "You can not deny that fact."  
  
"The man I wish dead is the Hitokiri Battousai, a danger to our country. And, I assure you, when next I meet that man, he will die. But, it is not for you to tamper with the vessel which currently seals away that man. That sort of danger is far beyond what you are capable of handling."  
  
"You once said you would never treat me as some sort of weakness, Hajime. Well, do not consider me weak now," Tokio said as she headed towards the shoji, tossing her head to one side to push all of her hair out of her face.  
  
Saitou's foot slid down the wall and he easily stepped to the side, placing his body between Tokio and her exit. His wife came to a stop only inches before running into his chest. One rough and calloused hand caught Tokio's chin, forcing her face to lift towards his. Hajime searched his wife's eyes, tilting his head slightly as he interrogated her with his persevering gaze. "No. It is not your strength I question. It is your sanity."  
  
"It is not insane to mourn, Hajime."  
  
"Aa, Kitty, maybe you are right." Saitou loosened his grip on his wife's chin. His fingers slid up her cheek, where he touched the outermost corner of her eye, removing the dewy tear which had collected there. Pulling his hand away from her cheek, Saitou rubbed together his moistened thumb and forefinger in front of Tokio's eyes, letting her watch as the tear evaporated into nothingness. "But, there are some things which, once spilt, can never be replaced. Let them go, Tokio. Your parents don't need you to mourn them anymore. They never have."  
  
"I wonder, Hajime," Tokio replied, "If I died, would you shed tears for me? Would you mourn for me for twelve years? For even one?"  
  
Saitou's jaw set, a mild look of disgust obvious in the pinch of his brow. Mourning the dead was a useless proposal, one that invalidated the very lives those people once lived. "No, Tokio. I would not."   
  
"I see." Tokio suddenly looked exceedingly tired, the dark hollows beneath her eyes almost sickly in their pallor. Raising her arm, Tokio attempted to push her husband aside, but encountered far too much resistance. "Please, Hajime, I've had a long day. I wish to go to bed."  
  
"Not until you tell me what you are planning."  
  
"I do not make plans, Hajime. That is your job. I'm merely going to teach Kamiya-san how to cook. She is a good woman, and I can see in her eyes that she could us a bit of kindness in her life. Besides, Himura Battousai is one of the greatest swordsmen of this era. What could I, a mere woman, do to him?"  
  
Saitou's snarl fell from his face as he stepped aside, opening the shoji for his wife. Tokio did not look at her husband as she stepped through the opening and disappeared into the house beyond.  
  
'Hn. If that is the truth, Tokio, why weren't you able to look at me when you said it?'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Mama! Mama!" Tokio-chan ran haphazardly through the yard, her little limbs flailing about as she screamed at the top of her healthy lungs. "Mama! There is a snake in your garden! A big one."  
  
Tanagi Katsuko looked up from her sewing as her daughter came to a skidding stop in front of the engawa. She was, by no means, what anyone would expect in a practiced kunoichi. A plain woman, with no distinguishing figures or characteristics, a woman who would blend into any setting or time. Her beauty lay not in the color or smoothness of her skin, nor in her simple hairstyle, not even in her large brown eyes. The woman's most exquisite feature was the tiny smile which she bestowed upon her daughter, a smile filled with amazing joy and love. It shone as proof of her deepest wish, to protect and teach the child she'd almost never been allowed to bear.  
  
"Tokio-chan, Kami-sama has given you a voice, but this does not mean you must scream loud enough to alarm the entire neighborhood. Now, come and tell me like a civilized lady might do."  
  
Tokio's chubby little arms reached up and attempted to pull the rest of her body onto the engawa. However, the girl's strength gave out during the process, stranding Tokio halfway to her goal. Katsuko chuckled at her daughter's antics and reached down to pull the girl the rest of the way up by the back of her yukata.   
  
"Mama," Tokio said quietly as she scooted next to Katsuko, placing her little head against her mother's chest, "There's a snake in your garden. I saw it. I was so scared. I thought it would bite me."  
  
"Shh, shh. You must never be frightened of snakes, Tokio-chan. They are our helpers. They eat all the little animals that want to eat our vegetables." Katsuko ran her hand through her daughter's wispy hair. "You must always remember that even the deadliest of animals are here for a purpose. Inside each is merely a desire to live. What may seem frightening or scary has been put on this earth, just as you or I, and we must share it with them to the best of our abilities."  
  
"What if it is poisonous, Mama? What if it bit me?"  
  
Katsuko looked down at the little girl now curled in her lap, "Then, you see, I would suck out the poison. Just like this." The comely woman screwed up her face, puckering her lips comically, as if she had just eaten something sour.  
  
Tokio laughed and mimicked her mother's face. "I want to show Papa when he gets..."  
  
Tokio watched as her mother's face fell from amused to distraught. Katsuko's eyes focused on something else in the yard, and her head bowed slightly. The child in her lap turned her head to see what had caused her mother's grief. In the distance, by the front gate, an older woman walked, arms crossed, rapidly approaching Katsuko and Tokio. At her side, a girl about Tokio's age trailed along, occasionally stopping to yawn.  
  
"Katsuko," the older woman said. "This must be Tokio-chan. Come, Tokio. Come to me and let me look at you."  
  
"No, Tokio..." Katsuko whispered. Nonetheless, Tokio felt strangely compelled to do what the older woman said. The six year old stood and climbed down the steps of the engawa, stopping in front of the strange woman.  
  
"Lets have a look," the woman gracefully crouched down and examined the little girl, picking up Tokio's hands, tilting the girl's head from side to side. "Has your Mama taught you well?"  
  
"Yes ma'am!" Tokio replied, eyeing the little girl standing behind the older woman. "Who's she?"  
  
"That is Keisuke-chan. She's a little lonely because her parents have gone away. Why don't you show her around a bit while I speak with your mother."  
  
"Okay!" Tokio grabbed the yawning girl by her hand and immediately headed off, mumbling something about, "In the garden..."  
  
Katsuko stood from the engawa and approached the woman standing in her yard, the woman who glared at her with eagle-like eyes. Stopping only a few feet away, Katsuko kneeled and touched her forehead to the ground. "Okashira. Mother. I beg of you..."  
  
"You have no right to beg anything of me," Iyoko replied, stabbing her toe into the dirt so forcefully a thick spray of dust hit Katsuko.   
  
The lower kunoichi coughed as she raised her head. "Please do not take Tokio from me, mother. Do not make me choose between my husband and my daughter. Such cruelty can not exist in the heart of a woman who has taken in and saved so many orphans, who has elevated so many young women."  
  
Iyoko snarled, looking off towards the distance where the two little girls played. "Hn. If you do not teach Tokio the final secret of the Fourth Akumu and place her in the care of the Hachinisasareru, then you yourself must return to the clan. These are the choices which women must make. While men speak of honor, loyalty, and pride, we women have only the choices of sacrifice, patience, and duty."  
  
"Please mother," Katsuko whispered, her voice trembling with fear, "Can't you once see me as your daughter rather than as a kunoichi?"  
  
"I see only a pathetic dog who betrayed her clan. And for what? For love. How poetic. But these are not the epic songs and tales I teach to the women in my care. This is reality. You must give up something for the happiness you crave, and that something will be Tokio. Do not think to deviate from the path I have dictated, or your husband and your daughter both will surely die by my hands."  
  
Katsuko sobbed, a plethora of tears falling from her face into the dirt of the path below her curled body.  
  
"I will return when the girl is thirteen. Prepare her. My eyes are constantly upon you." Iyoko's arm thrust out to one side, and she snapped her fingers twice. In the distance, Keisuke looked up from her playtime with Tokio and wordlessly left, jogging away from the garden towards her mistress without another thought.   
  
After Keisuke and Iyoko had gone, Tokio made her way back across the yard to find her mother sitting on the dirt path, tears streaming down her face.   
  
"Mama....mama...what's wrong? Are you okay?" Tokio's bottom lip quivered as she threw her little arms around her mother's back.   
  
"Yes, Tokio-chan. That lady just came to bring your mother some bad news. But, it is alright now. There, there. See? I'm alright. Did you have fun playing with that little girl?"  
  
"Yes I did, mama. Do you know what she did? She found that snake and picked it up with a stick! She's very brave, don't you think? Can I see her again?"  
  
"Oh Tokio-chan. I hope not," Katsuko replied, turning around to hug her daughter tightly to her chest, "I hope we never see those two ever again."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Himura Kenshin was doing the laundry. He was doing laundry not because he particularly -liked- doing laundry, not today. Today he was doing laundry for a strategic reason. It allowed him to watch everything that went on in the dojo. He could see Yahiko practicing on his left, Ayame and Suzume playing on his right, and he was just close enough to the kitchen to instantly be available should Kaoru need his assistance.  
  
Not that she sounded like she needed his help. She had been occasionally laughing and making incredibly impressed sounds all morning, ever since Saitou Tokio had shown up. And, Kenshin had to admit, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Perhaps his first impressions of Saitou's wife had been wrong. She seemed a little strange, certainly, but perhaps to the outside world -he-, too, would seem a bit odd.   
  
In some bizarre way, Saitou Tokio reminded him of another reserved and quiet woman. Something about the way she looked at him sometimes reminded him of Tomoe. 'Sessha supposes it isn't too strange that Saitou took a wife so similar to Tomoe. It is true, in the end, that the thing that irks me the most about Saitou Hajime is how much of myself I see in the man. With only slight deviations in my path, sessha could have ended up quite similar to the Wolf of Mibu. Now, that is a frightening thought, it is!'  
  
"Oh, Tokio-san, I'm so sorry! I put too much rice in, I think."  
  
Kenshin couldn't hear Tokio's reply, but since the quiet woman hadn't yet given up, she appeared to have more patience than most people. 'Well, sessha is glad. Not because Kaoru-dono's cooking needs help, no. Kaoru-dono seems to be enjoying herself. She doesn't do that quite enough, she doesn't.'  
  
"Oi, Kenshin," Yahiko called between swings, "Pay attention. There's someone at the gate."  
  
Kenshin looked up, blinking into the late summer sunlight, to regard the man silhouetted in front of the gate. The short figure, not much taller than Kenshin himself, stepped inside with a quiet, "Hello? Ah. This must be the Kamiya residence."  
  
"Yes," Kenshin replied with a smile, leaning the towel he had been cleaning against the side of the wash bin and standing. "How may be of..."  
  
Kenshin's hand went immediately to the hilt of his sakabatou as the figure walked from the shadows into the light. That ki. Burning with the intensity of the sun, piercing everything around it like molten metal. So vibrant and hot you could almost hear it sizzle against the air. But that man was supposed to be...  
  
"Okita Souji," Kenshin said, as a friendly breeze swept through the dojo, ruffling the hair of both men. "First Captain of the Shinsengumi."  
  
Yahiko immediately stopped practicing his swings and told Ayame and Suzume to go into the kitchen. The girls complied with a rousing cheer, knowing they had been smelling sweet things cooking all morning. After they had disappeared, Yahiko looked first at Kenshin, and then at the man who leisurely sauntered towards the pair. "Shinsengumi? Not another one."  
  
"Himura Battousai," Okita said by way of greeting, though he didn't appear particularly interested in the redhead. Souji's ever-present smile grew wider as he gazed around, getting a better look at the dojo. "Ah, reminds me of my youthful days in Mibu."  
  
Kenshin's eyes never left the man as he said, "Sessha doesn't mean to be rude, but, aren't you supposed to be dead?"  
  
"Hai, hai..." Okita replied with a chuckle, "Aren't you supposed to be dead, too, Himura-san?"  
  
Kenshin's grip tightened on his sakabatou as he said quietly, "Sessha does not wish to fight you, Okita-san."  
  
"Oh, that's good, Himura-san. Since, as you can plainly see, I am not carrying a sword." A merry twinkle shone in Okita's eyes. He was certainly enjoying this far more than he had expected. "You're so jumpy, Himura-san. Aren't you aware that this is the Meiji era? Some people, you know, have gotten on with their lives. I could suggest some calming hobbies..."   
  
"This guy was with the Shinsengumi? He looks about as daunting as Tsubame," Yahiko muttered.  
  
"Oh?" Okita replied, a mischievous grin crossing his face, "Well, if you have an extra shinai handy, we could certainly find out."  
  
"No!" Kenshin declared, recalling Rule of Threes as it applied to the ex-Shinsengumi Captain. Okita Souji was equally skilled in three weapons, the katana, the bokken, and the shinai. And, with all, his infamous three-point-thrust worked just as effectively in dispatching an opponent. Yahiko didn't really need a crushed windpipe today. "Okita-san, why don't you tell us why you are here?"  
  
"Oh, that's right. My apologies, Himura-san. I'm merely here to walk Tokio-san home."  
  
It was at that moment that Kaoru and Tokio emerged from the kitchen, being pulled along by Ayame and Suzume who wanted them to come and play.   
  
"Okita-san," Tokio said, greeting her friend by walking forward and clasping one of his hands, "You've come all this way?"  
  
"Hai, hai. I went by your shop, but when Naoya told me where you were, I thought I would come and keep you company on your way back."  
  
Tokio gave Okita a shaded but knowing look and turned her attention to the others in the yard, "You've met Himura-san and Myojin-san, I see? This is Kamiya-san, and little Suzume-chan and Ayame-chan."  
  
Okita bent down in front of the two girls and outstretched his hands. "Lets see. I seem to recall.... Yes. Little girls know magic. Perhaps you could tap my hands and make magic rocks appear."  
  
The girls giggled. Each one tapped one of Okita's fisted hands. The laughing poet turned them over and opened them, revealing a tiny polished glass pebble in each. The children squealed in delight as they stole the shiny prizes from the impish man's grasp and uttered their thank-yous.  
  
Tokio and Okita made their goodbyes, with Tokio promising to come again on Thursday morning. When the pair left, and Kaoru returned to clean up the mess in the kitchen, Yahiko walked over to Kenshin and said, "You look spooked. That guy doesn't seem so bad."  
  
"Mm," Kenshin replied, lost in thought. "Okita Souji was always reputed to have a kind disposition and a big heart. Unfortunately, it didn't make him any less deadly. He was the only member of the Shinsengumi who could have possibly stood toe to toe with Saitou Hajime. But, when I fought Saitou, I came away with wounds in my body. Fighting Okita always proved far more dangerous, wounding my mind as well."  
  
"Why is that, Kenshin?"  
  
"Because fighting Okita was a lot like fighting myself."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Might I inquire as to why you -really- came, Souji?" Tokio asked as the pair walked back towards the market.  
  
"Well, what good is it to be a legendary swordsman known to be dead, if you can't pull a prank on your former nemesis every now and again? Ooooo. I'm a scary ghost."  
  
Okita wiggled his hands in the air, demonstrating his post-mortem supernatural abilities. Though she laughed, Tokio shook her head sadly. Who could be afraid of Okita? It took a great deal of imagination to even picture her friend running through the streets of Kyoto, striking down revolutionaries with his blade. But, certainly, if he were a frivolous sort of man during the Bakumatsu, there would have been no way he could have befriended Hajime, much less survived. Could a man really change so much in ten years?  
  
"Souji," Tokio whispered, taking her friend's offered arm, "Hajime said that the Battousai still lives within Himura-san. What might that mean?"  
  
"Ah," Okita replied, patting Tokio's hand, "It is simple, if you think about it. Though we might change or grow, we keep inside of us an aspect of every period of our past. Just as an adult carries within them the spark of their childhood, allowing them to play and smile when their spirit needs it, Himura contains the Battousai. That part of his personality emerges when necessary, I suppose."  
  
"But, what could possibly bring out such a terrifying aspect of the man? I can understand that a person might need to laugh, why a person might need to protect the child within, but I can't understand what would cause a man to hold on to the very demon of death."  
  
"Only Himura, himself, could say for certain. Yet, I feel I suspect the truth. It lays in a man's need to protect the world around him. A lady, such as yourself, keeps safe her children. Everyone knows that it is unwise to target a tiger cub when the tigress is about. But men, lacking this maternal instinct, must look to the world at large. Himura knows, deep down, that Battousai is his trump card, when all else fails, to protect his world. But, the Battousai can not exist in the Meiji era, so he must be hidden away as deeply as possible until he is needed. I suppose that, perhaps, Himura feels that if he were to indulge this aspect of his personality for too long, he would be unable to even understand what it was he wanted to protect in the first place."  
  
Tokio took a sharp breath and exhaled through her nose, melancholy swimming in her brief sigh. Her eyes unfocused for a while, as if all of her thoughts had turned inward. Finally, she replied, "What of you, Souji? Do you still contain the First Captain of the Shinsengumi?"  
  
"Yes, Tokio, I do. And, you know, if my extended family were in trouble, you, or Naoya, or Eiji, I would be there, blade in hand, ready to defend you. I do not take kindly to the innocent being threatened." Souji flashed Tokio his wickedest smile, which came off more charming than frightening.  
  
"And what about Hajime? Would you even protect him?"  
  
"Oh, Tokio, you know your husband is capable of protecting himself in battle."  
  
Tokio stopped in the road, grasping Okita's hands tightly in her own. Her honey colored eyes searched his, importing the seriousness of her demeanor, "No, that isn't what I meant. I know you mean a great deal to him, my friend. I believe that often, he measures his own heart by the vibrancy and direction of your own. My husband may be a stoic and seemingly unemotional man, but he is just that. A man the same as any other. He needs someone to believe in him. To believe in his goal."  
  
"But, you will always believe in him, will you not, Tokio?"  
  
"I will for as long as I can, Souji, for as long as I can."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Officer Sawagejou Chou stepped onto the porch of Snowflake Sweets, his hands behind his head, as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of mochi and cakes and straw. Straw?  
  
Fwap.   
  
Chou rubbed the side of his face, opening his eyes to peer down at the angry-looking teenager who had just slapped him with the end of her broom. Strange. Usually it was his -hair- that endured "broom" taunts.  
  
"Can't you see I'm sweeping here?" Naoya said, poking the frighteningly tall cop in his stomach. "Haven't you got a lick of sense? Never step in a woman's dust pile."  
  
Chou rolled his eyes and stepped -out- of the now-scattered pile of dirt. "That time of the month -already-, Naoya? I thought I had a few more days to get m'self to Shanghai."  
  
Naoya's lips tightened into an angry pout, "Why you...unmannered...!"  
  
"Rat."  
  
"Moron."  
  
"Ugly."  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Oh, oh, you did not just..."  
  
"Brought ya somethin'."  
  
"You did?" Naoya's white-knuckled grasp on her broomstick loosened as she walked towards Chou -through- what remained of her pile of dirt, kicking it everywhere. "What is it?"  
  
Chou reached into the pocket of his long red coat and retrieved the well-made tanto. It was just like the one he had given Yumi all those years ago, sturdy and, frankly, polished to an impossible degree. "It's a tanto, see?" With a click, the knife slid from the sheath, reflecting the sunlight onto Naoya's kimono. "Don't use it for chopping vegetables or nothin'. It's for protection, cause I know you live in a dangerous neighborhood and all."  
  
Naoya couldn't possibly have blushed more deeply as she took the offered gift from Chou. "Ano, Chou...I don't think I'd know how to use..."  
  
"Of course ya don't. That's why I'm gonna teach ya. Tokio-san may know all about how to be a lady, but that ain't gonna getcha very far if some pigfucker assaults you on the street. I'll teach ya where to stick a man..."  
  
"I know exactly where to stick a man," Naoya declared, poking Chou with one outstretched finger once again.   
  
"Don't poke me unless ya wanna be poked in return."  
  
The lecherous tone in Chou's voice, and the way his usually-closed left eye opened to peer sinfully at the teenager caused Naoya to fumble, her anger diffusing as quickly as it built. "Um. Thanks for the tanto."  
  
"A tanto?" The whispered question belonged to Tokio. Naoya spun around, wondering exactly how long her mentor had been watching the exchange. "What an interesting gift."  
  
"Oh, Tokio-san. Um...Chou-san was just...uh..."   
  
It was absolutely incredible how the funny looking man from Kansai could make Naoya trip on her words.   
  
"Officer Sawagejou," Tokio began, removing her apron, "What a pleasant surprise. Just the man to whom I wished to speak, too. Naoya, would you be kind enough to watch the shop while the officer and I take a bit of a walk?"  
  
"Sure, Tokio-san," Naoya chirped, taking the apron that Tokio handed her. "I'll even make tea for when you return."  
  
"That would be lovely. Officer? Shall we?"  
  
As the mismatched pair walked through the streets of the market district, they garnered twice as many stares as they would alone. Whispers flittered about. Though inaudible to Tokio's ears, she knew exactly what they were saying. Who was the man with the funny hair and the swords strapped all over his body, and why would he associate with Fujita Tokio, the woman who had dirt on everyone?  
  
"Sawagejou-san, I really must, respectfully, ask what your intentions are towards my pupil. You come by most every day now, and I shan't allow this to continue unless I know."  
  
"Shit, Fujita-san, put me on the spot, why dontcha? I ain't done nothin' wrong by her, and I ain't gonna, if that's what yer thinkin'."  
  
Tokio pressed her hands together in front of her obi, shooting a sharp glare at a local cooper who appeared to be walking a bit too closely. The man picked up his pace and strolled ahead, leaving the pair to once again speak. "That is indeed good to hear, Sawagejou-san. Naoya may seem a bit rough at times, but I assure you, she is thoroughly a lady. If I were to find that you had less than honorable intentions, I don't know if I could stay my lips from warning her against you."  
  
"Aw, ya wouldn't do that, would ya, Fujita-san?" Chou looked at the woman through his one opened eye, trying to gauge the seriousness of her threat. Tokio, however, kept her eyes affixed firmly on the road before her.  
  
"Well, you do know what they say about men from Kansai. Plus, you have a remarkably checkered past, Sawagejou-san. You may not be suitable for Naoya. I've worked quite hard, as has she, to come to a point where she will be able to live a dignified life. Did you really think I would allow you to jeopardize her fragile reputation?"  
  
"I didn't mean t'put Naoya at risk. I only want...ya know... She's a real sweet girl, Tokio-san, and fuck if I know how this shit is s'posed to be handled. The only girls I ever been around were the geishas and oirans that were with Yumi-nesan."   
  
"Of course, of course," Tokio replied, giving the blonde man a simple yet knowing smile. "I could certainly help you woo my young friend. And, at the same time, since my reputation is less fragile than hers, help to protect her from gossip. All I will need is a miniscule favor from you."  
  
"Eh? What sort of favor?" Chou did not like where this was going. Not one bit.  
  
"Tell me, Officer, you know a great deal about swords. You might even be considered an expert, ne?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Do you know much about the sakabatou carried by Himura Battousai?"  
  
"The sakabatou?" Chou's brows furrowed deeply, "Yeah. I know all about it. Why do you ask?"  
  
Tokio's tongue darted out, rapidly moistening her lips before she said, "I need you to procure a replica for me. But, one with a double-edged blade."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yet another Tuesday had come to pass. Kenshin found the sight of Saitou Tokio showing up at the Kamiya residence became less and less disconcerting with each visit. Today she had brought some delicious spice cakes for breakfast, and had spelled out the names of the dojo residents in cinnamon on the tops, causing quite a squeal from Kaoru, Ayame and Suzume, and an incredible display of gluttony from Yahiko.  
  
But, as the morning pressed on, Kenshin noted that the dojo had become bathed in an odd silence. Even Yahiko had stopped practicing his swings. The rurouni was just about to go to the kitchen to find out what was happening when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tokio walking towards him.  
  
"Tokio-dono," Kenshin said, smiling brightly as the woman approached his pile of laundry. "It's still so early. Are you and Kaoru-dono done already for this morning?"  
  
"No," Tokio whispered, as she spread her arms to indicate the sky, "The heat. It seems to have made everyone sleepy. They've all gone to take naps, Yahiko, Ayame and Suzume-chan, too. I thought I would come and speak with you for a while before I leave."  
  
"Oh." Kenshin leaned forward to twist the water out of one of Yahiko's training gis. He racked his brain for something conversational as Tokio knelt down beside the washbin. "Sessha is quite glad that Kaoru-dono is enjoying herself. She speaks quite highly of your training methods, that she does."  
  
"Kamiya-san has proved herself to be an excellent pupil. She learns much more quickly than Naoya, that is certain. She says that you cook, too, is that true?"   
  
Kenshin nodded as he uncoiled the shirt and stood to hang it on a nearby clothesline. "Sessha tries. I can only hope to be helpful to Kaoru-dono, since she does let me stay here for free, she does. Sessha has no talent or skill besides being able to wield a sword. It tends to make one feel quite useless in this Meiji era."  
  
"Speaking of your sword, Himura-san, I couldn't help but notice that some of the laces on your katana's hilt have become frayed." Tokio put her fingers to her lips, peering at the sword hanging at Kenshin's hip. "I'm not an expert of repairing sword hilts by any means, but I could certainly stitch them down until you could get the proper repairs. I can do extremely tiny stitches. See, just like the ones on my kimono's hem here."  
  
"Sessha would very much appreciate that, Tokio-dono."  
  
"Well, I just happen to have a needle and thread in my basket in the kitchen. Why don't I do that now? It shouldn't take more than a second."  
  
Kenshin wiped his hands on his gi and pulled the sakabatou, sheath and all, from where it hung from the ties of his hakama.   
  
And he handed it to Tokio.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
There exists a point, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, where a man is able to sense a problem in the world beyond dreams, but still yet unable to reach that world. This land's most frequent visitors are drunks, opium addicts, and the extremely ill. Saitou Hajime, currently being none of these, and therefore unused to such a sensation, yelled. He yelled both in his dream and in the waking world, a resounding howl that succeeded in pushing his unwilling consciousness to the surface, where his eyes opened only to be flooded with light.  
  
Light.   
  
That was absolutely -not- right.  
  
Saitou rolled onto his side, pushing back the covers of his futon as the world came into focus. Morning. -Late- morning. How could that be? Saitou couldn't remember the last time he had woken -after- the sun had already risen. And, Tokio, she wasn't in the bedroom, so why hadn't she awakened him?   
  
Saitou growled miserably as he forced himself to stand and grab his unused sleeping yukata off a nearby counter. Didn't the world seem a bit -fuzzy- today? Well, he passed it off as the after-effects of sleeping for longer than he had in months, possibly years. Hajime tied the belt of his yukata with a grimace. He would definitely be late for work.  
  
And that is when he heard a clattering crash from the direction of the kitchen.  
  
Grabbing his katana from its place against the wall, Saitou thrust open the bedroom shoji and made his way quickly through hallways and rooms until he arrived at the kitchen.   
  
Eiji lay sprawled on the floor, a half-eaten spice cake still crumbling in his curled hand.   
  
"Eiji! Pick yourself up off the ground, ahou. You look like a goddamn idiot down there."  
  
Nothing. The boy didn't move one inch.  
  
Saitou bent down next to the prone boy, pressing his fingers against the boy's jugular to check for a pulse. Slow, yes, but present. Running his hand over Eiji's forehead to check for a fever, Saitou looked around the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary except...  
  
The oven was open.  
  
The scent hit Saitou's nostrils only one scant second after his eyes caught sight of the pan laying at the very back of the unlit oven. Crawling over Eiji, Hajime reached inside and pulled out his quarry.   
  
Half a pan of delicate spice cakes, minus the three that Eiji had eaten, lay still untouched. Saitou lifted the food to his nose and inhaled. Sugar. Ginger. And something...acrid...something...unnecessary...  
  
It was Tuesday.  
  
Saitou threw the pan back into the oven and kicked it closed as he stood up.   
  
Last night Tokio had made his favorite. Kake soba. He and Eiji had eaten quite a bit but she...she hadn't touched it, saying that her stomach hurt.  
  
Saitou took a deep breath, picking Eiji up, shaking what remained of the spice cake from the boy's hand. Moving quickly through the house, Saitou deposited the boy on his still unrolled futon.   
  
Tuesday. And there could be no doubt for whom the other half of that pan of spice cakes were meant.  
  
'Goddamnit, Tokio. What the hell have you done?'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: What the HELL is Tokio doing? Has she truly lost her mind? Why did she take the sakabatou? Will Eiji live? What about the residents of the Kamiya dojo? Will Saitou get there in time to stop Tokio from flipping out and possibly getting herself killed?   
  
***Author Notes:   
  
This is, really, only -half- of what I had planned for this chapter, but it was running long, so I decided to stop here and put in the rest as chapter 16.  
  
If you didn't already know, and I did -not- until this week, because apparently I am clueless, on November 10, 2003, (this past week) Shonen Jump released the first volume of the RK manga translated into English! I've bought mine and anxiously await their arrival.  
  
A few people have asked about the H&T Fan Artwork Contest, but no entries to report as of yet. Though, my total bill for the first two volumes of the above mentioned manga came to $20.88. The prize, therefore, will be upped by 1 dollar in case you want to get -this- with your winnings.   
  
If you are wondering how long you have to participate in the contest, I am -hoping- that H&T will be done around Christmas or shortly thereafter.  
  
I have a few corrections from the last chapters:  
  
Correction 1: Quite a few people pointed out it is "mochi" and not "moti". My sincere apologies. The page from which I took that information appears to have been translated incorrectly.  
  
Correction 2: In chapter 13, some of the dates on the days, I have discovered, were incorrect. I hope it didn't throw people off too much. If I ever get around to doing an edit (when the entire story is finished), I'll fix them.  
  
Correction 3: I was re-reading a bit of one of the earlier chapters, and I realized that Saitou referred to Naoya as "badger-girl". That should have been RAT girl.   
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
From what I gather from the manga translations, Jinchuu happens in mid-late summer. The following fall, Kenshin issues his duel challenge to Saitou. I've actually inserted an extra year between the two seasons.   
  
Tea. I actually depict a more European view of tea, as I am not as familiar with Japanese rituals and styles. However, many tea enthusiasts -do- believe that a few drops of milk will help protect the cup from the hot tea. Ginger -is- often used as a palate cleanser in many cultures, and I, personally, do often drink tea with a slice of ginger when possible, as it tends, in my opinion, to cut the bitterness.   
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Yukishiro Enishi: Sorry Enishi fans, but that arc is merely a footnote to our story.  
  
Sanosuke: The "Actually. It is poisoned." line comes from Chapter 2, when Tokio tries to poison Zanza and his friend. Sanosuke doesn't -quite- remember Tokio, but like with Saitou, he recognizes -something-, enough to know she isn't all kind and sweet.  
  
Tanagi/Takagi Katsuko: This is really the name of Tokio's mother. Historically, Tokio also has a little sister and a brother. Unfortunately, they did not work for my story and got left by the wayside. I apologize.   
  
Himura Kenshin: The original opening paragraph of the first scene with him doing laundry had a "joke" wherein Kenshin imagines a world where instead of being a swordsman, he defeats people by doing their laundry. Since I -hate- it when -other- authors make stupid references to their other stories, I left it out.  
  
Okita Souji: He is actually reputed to have been equally as skilled with the shinai, bokken, and sword. And, in addition, reputed to have been, historically, very good with kids. If you were wondering about the stones he gave Ayame and Suzume...he picked them up in the marketplace. For his -goldfish-, of course.  
  
Saitou Tokio: I reserve the right to not comment on anything she's done in this chapter until the end of the next chapter.  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Maccha - The type of tea most often used in formal tea ceremonies, it is crushed to a powder.  
  
Bancha - This is a more common tea for daily use. It might be drunk with dinner, but likely not served to guests.  
  
First Flush - Among tea enthusiasts, it is generally accepted that leaves procured from the first blossoming of the tea for a season are best.   
  
Monaka: The page I have shows them as jam-stuffed cookie/wafer type things.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
As always, I thank you for your reviews. I'm always amazed that people seem to be sticking with this story, and don't give up, no matter how much I screw up simple information or butcher characters. Every time I read your reviews, I say to myself: "Self. Keep it up. Someone out there is not horrified by your writing style!" So, an extra special thank you to: me me me and only me, Jared/Tofu, JadeGoddess (No Enishi, really, sorry.), darktenshi (I should have made him "Use the Force, Luke..er...Hajime, to get the damn sword down.), Gemini1 (hours? Wow. I didn't think I was -that- longwinded.), eriesalia (after a while, he probably could have pulled himself out on his own. The man refuses to die.)  
  
tesuka- chan: I will definitely post all entries to a website. I hope some people enter. No one has yet, and I feel completely dumb for even putting forth the idea now. But, you should definitely enter!!! Anyway, the doctor only went into the antechamber and peeked. If he'd actually gone into the room, he'd have probably gotten gatotsu-ed.  
  
Shimizu Hitomi: No, you made perfect sense. I just mostly wanted to make Chou a bit more human and -humane- before I set him up with Naoya, and that was the first thing that came to mind. Anyway, the story is going to be about Okita and Soujiro, rather than Saitou and Soujiro. But, I have to see if I can make it believable before I work on it more. The first chapter is mostly written, and...I have to say...it is even more damn depressing than this one.  
  
vegetachanlover: Yeah. I thought the "prepared for -battle-" bit was hilarious, myself. Though, Tokio gets a bit more scary in this chapter, I think. Shuko = not scary. Scheming = very scary.  
  
fujifunmum: Yeah, I didn't really think that would happen, either. I was just stuck for an ending to the chapter that would tie everything up. Still, I don't think they were doing the -nasty- in there, maybe just mugging down.  
  
Charmed-Anime: I probably won't go into Naoya/Chou any more than I have to. Delving into those psyches too much frightens even me.  
  
LSR-7: Thank you for pointing out the "mochi" thing. I felt really stupid after I realized that I'd messed up so badly. But, everyone forgave me, it seems, so that is good. I had sushi today, but I forgot to see if they had any mochi on the menu. I'd very much like to try it, but my cooking skills are on par with Kaoru's.  
  
AiteanE: Ah, but I thought the line Vin Diesel says is: "The things I'm -gonna- do for my country." Nonetheless, they are quite similar. I actually didn't think about -how- similar until you pointed it out. This chapter is also full of a few bits of lines I stole from a comedy routine by Eddie Izzard, but I don't know if anyone will be able to find them. P.S. Soujiro -so- needs a puppy.  
  
Aozora: Thanks for pointing out the mochi thing. Also, I'm glad I know now why Chou calls her Yumi-nesan. Still, I like the thought of Chou and Yumi being related. I might have to write a story about that sometime, though I hesitate because I doubt I could write a more compelling Yumi story than Haku Baikou. Currently, however, I'm stuck on "Hitokiri Stainmaster". :(  
  
Pinetar: Yup. Mochi. I'm looking forward to the Okita and Soujiro story. It probably won't be as long as this one. Thank GOD. :D  
  
bonessasan: Ah, you can never be afraid to tell bad jokes, that is what I say. Well, I hope you enjoyed the introduction of the Kenshingumi. Man, scenes with more than 3 characters in them are -so- hard to write.  
  
IceRain: Thank you so much for the suggestion of Burai! Saitou looks so incredibly different there, hm? I don't know. That is a bit -too- prettyboy for me. Still, very, very interesting. And you get to see Tokio, too. How neat!  
  
Animyth: Hope the chapter didn't disappoint. Did you ever find some sakura mochi? I'm afraid I've run out of puns for now. Though, I did include a sketch in this one which isn't actually funny, probably.  
  
kakashi-fan: See end of chapter!  
  
hikikomori: Yeah. No one seemed to go for the on-the-desk thing. I'm just pretending that they weren't really doing the nasty in there...just making out. No, doing jumping jacks, yeah. That's it. Jumping jacks.   
  
Cherry Delight: You are far too insightful for your own good. I'm banning you from peering into the brains of my characters from now on! Unfortunately, -she- was the one who poisoned him. By accident, though, of course. Stupid woman. Should have thrown the rest of the cakes -away-. Bad Tokio! Anyway, everyone agrees with you: The scene on the desk was -way- wrong, but highly amusing nonetheless. Anyway, the end of this chapter contains...yes...the difference between Shishio and Shishou. It isn't that funny, so please don't get your hopes up too high. Anyway, as always, glad you are back!!! I am currently smoking a cigarette in your honor.  
  
***You Asked For This Lame Sketch Notes:  
  
The difference between Shishou and ShishiO.  
  
Some people may not understand the difference between these two, seemingly simple words. Well, I am here today to explain the difference.  
  
Shishou: Drinks.  
  
ShishiO: Stinks.  
  
Shishou: Lives -on- a mountain.  
  
ShishiO: Lives -in- a mountain.  
  
Shishou: Bakes pottery in a kiln. (IE: Owns his own EZ Bake oven.)  
  
ShishiO: Bakes internal organs in skin. (IE: -IS- his own EZ Bake oven.)  
  
ShishiO: Wants to take over the world with Kuni Tori.  
  
Shishou: Thought about taking over the world once, but just couldn't be bothered.  
  
ShishiO: His prodigy is a short guy who smiles a lot.  
  
Shishou: His prodigy is a short guy who smiles a lot. And says "Oro?"  
  
ShishiO: Killed a lot of people during the Bakumatsu.  
  
Shishou: Killed a lot of people during the Bakumatsu, but somehow, that's okay.  
  
ShishiO: "The weak die, the strong survive."  
  
Shishou: "Bring me more sake."  
  
ShishiO: Covers his burned body in bandages.  
  
Shishou: Covers his muscular body in a weighted cloak.  
  
Shishou: Had to kill his predecessor to get his position.  
  
ShishiO: Tries to kill his predecessor to achieve Kuni Tori.  
  
ShishiO: Will be fought over by Yumi and Kamatari.  
  
Shishou: Will be fought over by Okon and Omasu.  
  
Shishou: So full of sake, he would explode if you lit a match near him.  
  
ShishiO: Explodes. No match needed.  
  
ShishiO: Very scary.  
  
Shishou: Very, very scary.  
  
I hope this helps! 


	16. Chapter 16 Prelude: A Poison Tree

A Poison Tree  
by: William Blake (1757 - 1827)  
  
I was angry with my friend:  
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  
I was angry with my foe;  
I told it not, my wrath did grow.  
  
And I water'd it in fears,  
Night & morning with my tears;  
And I sunned it with my smiles  
And with soft deceitful wiles.  
  
And it grew both day and night,  
Till it bore an apple bright;  
And my foe beheld it shine,  
And he knew that it was mine,  
  
And into my garden stole  
When the night had veil'd the pole:  
In the morning glad I see  
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree 


	17. Chapter 16: The Last Black Envelope

Edited: Nov 21. (Changed up some lines in the "resolution" scene due to some errors and wonkiness pointed out by reviewers. Thanks all.)  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 16 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sagara Sanosuke had a pounding, throbbing, excruciatingly painful headache. It might have been the drinking he'd done last night. It -might- have been the fact that Tae had completely refused to serve him breakfast this morning, and had, instead, called him a "Useless sponge not even worthy to clean out the grease pits of the Akabeko". Or it might have been the fact that, just now, upon approaching the Kamiya dojo, he passed a man he thoroughly abhorred: Sawagejou Chou.  
  
Although Sanosuke had stopped in his tracks, Chou had just kept on walking, flexing his arms quickly to pull his long red coat more tightly closed.  
  
"Oi, baka, arentcha even gonna say hello?"  
  
Chou finally stopped, but did not turn around. "I'm trying to incorporate into my life a policy of not talkin' ta every damn idiot I pass on the street."  
  
"Why you... If you wanna fight, we can fight. I got a hangover, but I can still pummel you into a stain on the ground."  
  
Looking back over his shoulder, Chou replied, "Ya wanna go to jail today, moron?"  
  
Sanosuke shrugged. At least in jail, maybe, he could get a meal.   
  
"Look, rooster-head," Chou said, watching the other man pop his knuckles, "Ya better get yerself back to whatever fucking porch ya slept under. Ain't no damn reason for ya to go to that stupid dojo today."  
  
"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Now it was Chou's turn to shrug. "Maybe it means that I don't want to be called over there in case ya start trouble. I got better things to do with my day."  
  
While Sano attempted to compose his retort, Chou started down the road again. He really -didn't- have time for this, after all. Not if he wanted to get to police headquarters, break into the room where they kept Shishio's sword, and hightail it out of Japan on the next boat leaving for somewhere warm.   
  
Both katanas. He would own both katanas used in the epic battle that decided the fate of the entire nation. That, alone, made the sakabatou worth its weight in gold, even if it was a damn useless hunk of metal otherwise. It was like owning history itself.  
  
Right. So, if he were so damn certain of his plan, why exactly had he said precisely the words which would have caused Sanosuke to run to the dojo? Why was he walking so fucking slow? He didn't give a damn what happened to Fujita Tokio. He'd be long gone before anyone figured out his part in whatever the hell it was that Tokio had planned.   
  
But, Naoya. He'd never see her again. She'd probably call him some pretty nasty names. She might even make fun of his hair. Or his face. And she was the one person who'd never said the first word about the way he looked.   
  
Damn, she'd hate him forever. If not for leaving then for helping Tokio get into whatever trouble she had been cooking up. And then Naoya would go off and get married to some respectable fucker and make lots of little rat-girl babies that would speak impeccable Japanese but wear their obis crooked. Damn it. Damn it.  
  
Of all the days he had to grow a conscience, why today?   
  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity FUCK!  
  
Chou changed directions and headed away from the police station towards Taito street.  
  
He knew full well that his boss was going to kill him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio took a deep breath as she looked down at the katana in her hands. The replica wasn't perfect, not on such short notice, but she only needed it to pass for the true sakabatou for a few minutes, tops.   
  
Chou had been waiting, just as instructed, on the other side of the wall behind the dojo's kitchen. The trade off went smoothly, wordlessly.   
  
Her plan was falling exactly into place. In the end, all you really needed to trap your prey turned out to be immeasurable patience and a knowledge of how people thought. And, of course, the strength of will to sacrifice everything for your desired goal.  
  
The mild narcotic she'd slipped into Hajime's and Eiji's dinner would keep both of them sleeping long into the morning. This had given her the necessary time and cover to wake up and cook the poisoned spice cakes for Yahiko, Ayame, Suzume, Kaoru and, just in case, an extra one for that loudmouthed street-fighter. Of course, Himura Battousai's had been saved from an untainted batch she'd cooked the previous day.   
  
By writing out the names of the recipients in cinnamon on the tops of the cakes, Tokio hadn't even needed to make certain the right ones went to the right people. Though, true, it had been slightly difficult to keep Yahiko from eating Sanosuke's.  
  
Now for the rest of the plan. If everything went as she had decided, by the end of the day, her misery would be no more. The unending sadness which she had bourn these past few months would be laid to rest. The mournful suffering which had, at every turn, assaulted her heart, would crumble into nothingness.  
  
In addition, she'd have the justice for which she had so adamantly longed. Battousai would be dead. Her parents would be able to finally rest, no longer calling out for the vengeance she had taken so many years to procure.  
  
'Do not look at me now, Mama, Papa. Do not watch what your daughter must do. Stay blind to the broken woman who stands before you. Forgive me now, I beg of you, for so long wishing for happiness that I have remained deaf to that which is rightfully mine. I must own this sadness, I understand. I have too long stolen smiles from this world, and now is the time to pay my dues.'  
  
As Tokio turned the sheathed katana over in her hands, a clink echoed though the kitchen of the dojo. The usually demure woman felt her flesh crawl at the sound.  
  
The sound of death.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Oi, Kenshin, where is everyone?" Sanosuke strolled into the dojo like...well...like he lived there or something.   
  
"Hello Sano," Kenshin replied, standing to hang yet another article of clothing out to dry. "They've all gone to take naps due to the heat. Tokio-dono brought breakfast for everyone, I think she saved a bit for you, she did."  
  
"Fuck no, I'm not eating a damn thing that creepy lady cooks."  
  
"That's alright Sagara-san," Tokio whispered as she exited the kitchen and walked along the engawa, the 'sakabatou' in hand. "I think there is some rice left over from the dinner Himura-san cooked last night. Why don't you have that?"  
  
"Leftovers? Ugh." Without apologizing for his insult, Sano stepped up onto the engawa and plopped himself down cross-legged. This would require some thought. Either he had to eat the cold rice, or he had to eat whatever Tokio had made. Wait. Was she carrying the sakabatou? "Why's she got your katana, Kenshin?"  
  
"Tokio-dono was repairing the laces for me, that she was," Kenshin replied, beaming a bright smile at his obviously hung-over friend.   
  
Tokio hid her frown by walking past the moping streetfighter and bending down to lean the replacement sakabatou against one of the engawa posts. "I'll put this right here, Himura-san, no need to handle it while your hands are wet."  
  
"Thank you so much, Tokio-dono."  
  
Tokio stood and watched Sanosuke out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't moving. Well, she hadn't planned on a witness, but his presence would prove inconsequential. Now that events had been set into motion, there could be no going back.  
  
"Himura-san," Tokio began, stepping off the engawa as Kenshin bent again towards his wash bin. "There was something I wanted to ask you about."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
He had such an innocent look just then, those lavender eyes of his so wide with the expression of complete cluelessness. Surely the truth behind the man could not lay in this gentle rurouni. No. It was a mere shell, like the outer skin of a snake, just waiting to be shed and expose the raw scales beneath. Tokio's hands found themselves at her scarf, deftly untying the knot as she walked towards the clothesline behind Kenshin.   
  
The tone of Tokio's whisper turned to a grating rasp, "Mm, yes. I have to wonder if you, yourself, have ever known true fear. The kind of fear which rips away innocence and leaves behind only a ghostly spirit condemned to wander forever unhappy through this waking world."  
  
"Tokio-dono, I don't think I understand..." Kenshin's eyes narrowed as he heard the rustle of fabric behind him. The clothesline? No. No breeze. Tokio? Suddenly, Kenshin felt the shocking tear in her ki, her spirit forcibly ripping itself from her body leaving behind only....  
  
Kenshin's eyes went wide both with an unmistakable realization about Saitou Tokio and with the automatic need for defense. His hand flew from the water to his hip. The sakabatou. Not there. Kenshin tried to turn, but found himself pinned as Tokio's foot planted itself on his back, and her scarf wound itself twice around his neck.  
  
Tokio pushed forward with her foot while at the same time pulling backwards on the ends of her scarf. "No, no," Tokio hissed, "No need to speak, no need to struggle, Battousai. Be a pleasant host for Tanagi Tokio and receive that which is so freely given. Die."  
  
"Kenshin!" Sano yelled, standing up, his hangover suddenly not terribly important anymore. "What the fuck are you doing, lady?"  
  
Kenshin raised one hand towards his friend and choked at his words, the silk of the scarf biting into the skin at his neck, "No. Sano. Don't."  
  
The rurouni's eyes darted back and forth, seeking out an answer. Tanagi. Tanagi. That name. He knew that name because...  
  
"That's right, Battousai. Come to the realization of your death," Tokio's grating rasp assaulted his ringing ears, "What will you choose, in your final moments? Fear? Or will you come to the understanding that you are not meant to possess happiness. You have plucked from the tree of life an apple which does not rightfully belong to you. It is time, Battousai, to pay for that theft."  
  
'Why doesn't he just throw her off?' Sano wondered, inching further towards his struggling friend, fully intending to punch the woman at his earliest convenience, 'He could easily execute some move, any move, and be out of her grasp.'  
  
Kenshin's thumbs attempted to wiggle underneath the fabric rapidly scissoring itself through his neck. He needed air. Focusing on his concerned friend, Kenshin tried to will his thoughts into Sano's head. 'Sano. I hope you are paying attention. Please be paying attention.'  
  
"This is far more amusing than I had imagined," Tokio whispered, grinding her heel into Kenshin's back, "I can see how you might have enjoyed killing so many people during the Revolution, Battousai."  
  
Wincing against the burning sensation at his throat, Kenshin struggled to pull in air. Just enough. Just enough to say, "Sano! She's pregnant."  
  
So -that's- why he hadn't thrown her off.  
  
Tokio's grip on the ends of the scarf faltered. 'He wasn't supposed to figure that out. He was supposed to leap for the sakabatou. Damn. No one was supposed to know. Not until...not until...'  
  
Using Tokio's moment of surprise as his opening, Kenshin rolled to the side, away from the rapidly approaching Sanosuke. The fabric slipped easily from the startled woman's hands, but the removal of the body that had been underneath her foot caused Tokio to lose her balance and begin to fall in the opposite direction from Kenshin.  
  
Thankfully, Sanosuke -had- been paying attention. He caught Tokio easily, one hand at her back, one on her arm, and pulled her back upright. No matter how much he might have disliked the woman, you just did -not- get rough with a pregnant lady.  
  
As Kenshin unwound the scarf from his neck and gasped for much needed air, Tokio shook herself from Sanosuke's grasp. "Hn. How did you know? You weren't supposed to figure that out, Battousai. But, it doesn't matter. You will still die."  
  
Tokio stormed towards the engawa, leaving the two men wondering exactly -what- had just happened.  
  
"You alright, Kenshin?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
The 'sakabatou' now in her hands, Tokio turned on her heel and tossed the katana in the direction of Kenshin. It landed at the crouched rurouni's feet with a clank.  
  
"You'll be needing that, Battousai. You have a choice to make."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chou arrived at the Saitou house just as Hajime walked out onto the engawa. Saitou, still hurriedly pulling on the outer shirt of his police uniform, looked up to find the broom-haired cop loitering at the gate.  
  
"Whatever you want, I don't have time for it now," Saitou said, "I'll be at the office tomorrow. Talk to me then."  
  
"Yer never late to work, Boss. What'd she do, slip something in your dinner?"  
  
Hajime's head jerked upwards as his hand fell to the hilt of his katana, leaving the rest of the buttons on his outer shirt undone. The left corner of his lip upturned in the faintest semblance of a sneer. "You knew."  
  
"Aa. Once again I got information that you don't have, boss. Funny how that keeps endin' up happenin'. So, what'll ya give me for it? I could use a raise, ya know." Chou attempted to grin evilly, but in reality just appeared to be squinting against the sunlight.  
  
"Hn. I'll give you a reprieve from instant death, ahou." Saitou's thumb slid underneath the stop on his katana, clicking it from it's sheath to punctuate his intent.   
  
Chou threw up his hands. Best to comply, for Tokio, and by extension Naoya's sake. "Alright, alright. Look. I don't know much..."  
  
"You never do."  
  
"Tokio-san just told me that you'd be out long enough for me to cover the trail of what happened to this." Chou threw open his coat and withdrew the sakabatou. He tossed the stolen item to Saitou, who caught it one-handed. "She had me make a double-bladed replica and bring it to her at the Kamiya dojo this mornin'. I don't know what she plans to do with it, but..."  
  
"You are a goddamn idiot. What makes you think I won't put you back in jail for theft?"   
  
"I think ya got bigger things to worry about right now, boss," Chou replied with a shrug.   
  
Saitou's eyes narrowed, regarding the wayward cop with immense disdain. True. He didn't have time to deal with Chou now. And, at least the man had come forward with a confession of his crime. "Get inside my house. Eiji's been poisoned. Watch him until I return. I'll deal with you then."  
  
"Poisoned?" But, it was too late to ask questions. Saitou had already brushed past him and was making his way well down Taito street at a remarkable speed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"A choice?" Kenshin looked up from where he had been crouching on the ground. Even from twenty feet away, he could clearly make out the disfiguring scar on Saitou Tokio's now naked neck. It didn't seem like anyone should have been able to survive such a wound.  
  
Tanagi. Tanagi. That name echoed in his mind. Did it have importance? Some significance he could not recollect?   
  
A flash of fire reverberated in Kenshin's mind. A burning house. Eyes watching him from beneath a porch. A tiny ki that curled upon itself becoming miniscule with fear.  
  
"Yes, Battousai," Tokio replied, nonchalantly kneeling into a sitting position on the edge of the engawa. "You see, I've already realized that I can't kill you as you are now, since the man I seek to destroy is buried within you. Nor could I possibly hope to fight you once you return to your true self. I am, after all, merely a woman, and not a skilled and legendary swordsman like my husband."  
  
"Did Saitou put you up to this, lady?" Sanosuke asked, offering a hand to pull Kenshin up.   
  
"No, my husband knows nothing of this, though he has harbored suspicions for some time," Tokio returned her calm gaze towards Kenshin, "Are you agitated yet, Battousai? No? Well, you shall be soon. Recall those spice cakes I fed you and your friends this morning?"  
  
Kenshin's pupils dilated as a broad smile spread on Tokio's lips. "No...you wouldn't..."  
  
"Ah, but I -would-, Battousai, I would. But, I am kind. I should not wish your friends to suffer, so they shall die most peacefully in their sleep. The poison takes some time to work its way through a person's system, but then, eventually, their hearts will just -stop-. I suppose Ayame-chan and Suzume-chan will go first, their little hearts becoming still like a butterfly coming to rest on a flower. Next Yahiko, I assume. He's strong for a child, but still small. And then the lovely Kamiya Kaoru. I find myself remarkably saddened to have to do this to her. But, we women are constantly sacrifices to the mistakes of men. They are all such innocents, ne? You really should do everything in your power to save them, Battousai."  
  
"Kami-sama, what a twisted bitch. I told Jou-chan that someone would have to be deranged in the head to marry Saitou, and boy was I fucking right."  
  
"Tokio-dono," Kenshin said, bowing his head. His low tones, tinged with urgency, rung through the courtyard like the dulcet notes of a bamboo wind chime, "Sessha is not certain what grievance he has caused you, but I beg you not to harm my friends. Sessha does not believe that a woman who has given such care to Eiji-chan so freely, would put at risk any child. This I know, you do not wish to do what you are doing, that you don't. So, please, tell us how to save our friends."  
  
"There is a readily available antidote," Tokio whispered. "And if you choose, you may have it with my blessings."  
  
Kenshin breathed a sigh of relief. "Sessha thanks you, Tokio-dono. Where might we find this antidote?"  
  
Tokio's head leaned back, her entire body beginning to quake with silent laughter. One hand fingered her collarbone as she attempted to get control of herself, pressing the delicious deviousness of her plan back inside her body. Instantly, Tokio snapped back up, glaring at Kenshin with a bemused grin. "In my stomach, Battousai. That is where you will find the antidote. I've made small capsules containing the required cure and swallowed them. I'm afraid you'll have to cut me open to fish them out."  
  
"You want Kenshin to...-kill- you?" Sano asked incredulously, "She's loonier than Enishi, Kenshin."  
  
Kenshin's jaw dropped slightly. He'd battled many a man with a desire for revenge, but never one willing to sacrifice themselves on his blade. But why? Why would she want to kill herself -and- her unborn child?   
  
"I see you are beginning to understand the choice you must make, Battousai. If you would pick up your katana, you'll find that I have provided you with an adequate symbol of this most amusing situation."  
  
As commanded, Kenshin bent to pick up the sakabatou at his feet, only to find that it felt far too light. As Kenshin loosed the blade from its sheath, Tokio whispered, "A double-edged sword. Proper, don't you think? Just like the choice you must now make. You may choose to kill me and my unborn child, saving your friends, thereby breaking your oath and returning to the ways of the hitokiri. Or, you may choose the path of inaction and lose all that is dear to you as your friends die one by one."  
  
Sano's hands clenched into fists at his side, "Don't even worry about it, Kenshin. I'll get Megumi, and she can..."  
  
"Cure your friends? There isn't enough time. Kamiya-san told me all about the good doctor lady. I'm afraid that by the time you retrieve her, have her examine your friends, figure out which poison I used, and retrieve all the elements needed to concoct the antidote, it will be too late." Tokio leaned back on her outstretched arms, allowing the sun to play on her psychotically serene face.   
  
Kenshin stared at the half-withdrawn blade in his hands as his flesh began to crawl with the realization of the situation. Even merely holding this sword made him feel...odd. Ill to his stomach. And every time Tokio spoke, as quiet as her rasping whisper was, he found himself compelled, entranced, as if pulled towards her reasoning against his will. It reminded him far too much of his fight with Jin'eh. She was doing -something-, something which he could not outwardly perceive.   
  
But it felt so...familiar.  
  
Kenshin slid the sword back into the sheath with a snap.   
  
"Sessha will not kill you, Tokio-dono, that I will not."  
  
Tokio's broad smile fell slightly as she sighed. "How selfish of you, Battousai. You choose your own way of life over your friends? Is the outer shell you have concocted for yourself really more precious than your loved ones? Poor Kamiya-san. I feel for her, truly. I believe she may have been made happy by you, however strange that seems. I wonder if she will cry tears of despair from heaven, cursing your name." Tokio leaned forward, her intense gaze burning with the reflection of the sunlight, "Heaven. Yes. Perhaps you should go to comfort her there. If you were to take your own life, you could explain yourself to her in the next world."  
  
"No, Kaoru-dono would be upset with Sessha if he were to take your life, his own life, or any life." But, even as he said it, Kenshin could feel his fingers itching to draw the blade. Why? This was completely unreasonable. Nonsensical. He did -not- want to kill Saitou Tokio. He did -not-. Nonetheless, scenes of gore kept playing across his mind. Blood coating his hands as he ripped into the woman's stomach. The smell. The feel of...  
  
"Draw the sword, Battousai." Her voice seemed so far away now. Just a whisper of a whisper. Dreamlike. Coaxing him like Tomoe's elegant fingers. He couldn't breathe. Was there air here in the dojo yard? "It is so, so simple to kill, Battousai. Yes. Come to me."  
  
Kenshin found himself stepping forward against his will. 'Sessha must fight. No. This isn't right. This isn't..."  
  
"Kenshin, what are you -doing-?" Sano yelled, bounding across the yard to place himself between the struggling rurouni and Saitou Tokio. "You can't be seriously thinking about..."  
  
"No, Sano...something...she is -doing- something, that she is."  
  
"I don't know what you are talking about, Battousai," Tokio rasped, pulling the pins out of her hair and sticking them in her obi. Yes, with her hair around her shoulders, that would make for a more compelling scene. Not that Hajime would care what her corpse looked like, would he? 'Hajime, you will wake soon. I know it won't take you long to figure out what has happened. I am glad that you won't mourn for me. Glad that you won't shed tears. You will be angry, and that much I deserve, but do not waver in your beliefs.'  
  
Fighting against feet unwilling to obey his commands, Kenshin's bowed head uttered a soft request, "Please, Tokio-dono, why would you want this lowly one to kill you? I can not understand, that I can not."  
  
"It is simple. My death will cause the outer shell which contains the Hitokiri Battousai to collapse, leaving only the assassin of legend. And this transformation will free my husband from staying his hand where you are concerned. He will come for you, and even if he fails, I have no doubts that Okita-san will follow shortly in his footsteps. You may be able to defeat one of them, but I doubt even you could defeat them both. If you could have, you would have done so during the Revolution, would you not?"  
  
"So, you would sacrifice yourself just to get your husband to fight Kenshin?" Sano shook his head sadly. Crazy. Absolutely dead bonkers. Wait. Probably shouldn't use the word -dead-.  
  
"Yes." Tokio tilted her head to look past the ex-streetfighter, peering at Kenshin expectantly, "Please do not waste this precious time, Battousai. I beg of you, save your friends. End my life. It is proper. It is my wish. Just as you did so many years ago...do...now...for me."  
  
Kenshin found himself struggling against Sanosuke, who had now taken the rurouni by the shoulder in an attempt to keep him from advancing. "Don't listen to her, Kenshin. Don't. Oi! Damnit, are you listening to me?"  
  
And that is when Sanosuke did the first and only thing that came to mind. He punched his best friend directly in the gut. "Snap -out- of it, Kenshin!"  
  
Blackness.  
  
Voices. Voices from the past.  
  
"Be calm, Battousai."  
  
A line of women, all wearing cloth gags.  
  
"Don't talk to them. Don't ever talk to them."  
  
Tanagi.  
  
Tanagi Kojurou.   
  
That was the night...  
  
That was the night they found out...  
  
And in his hand...  
  
The last black envelope.  
  
Kenshin sat up with a start, once again gasping for air. Slowly, his eyes focused on Sanosuke's face. His friend was kneeling by his side. "Sorry, Kenshin. I couldn't think of anything else."  
  
"It is alright Sano, it is." Kenshin's voice sounded far more certain now, so his friend merely nodded and helped the winded rurouni to stand. Both men turned to look at Saitou Tokio, who remained perched on the engawa, watching the exchange with the same empty smile. "Tanagi Tokio. Sessha apologizes, that I do. I understand now. You are in mourning, as you have been for a long, long time. Your parents..."  
  
Tokio's eyes closed as a brief expression of pain crossed her brow. "You took them from me. I saw you. I saw the horror you wrought with your blade. And now it is time to give something in return, Battousai. This is the way the world is, a constant balance of happiness and sadness. You can not escape from that balance."  
  
Kenshin dropped the katana in his hands. A brief burst of dust encircled his feet. "This may or may not be true, Tokio-dono. But, Sessha fears that in this case, your intentions are mistaken."  
  
A dry whisper sounded only one syllable: "Oh?"   
  
"I did not kill your parents, that I did not."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kyoto, 1867. Summer.  
  
Himura leaned against the gnarled tree in the enclosed courtyard of the Makaze Inn. He was pretty sure that the inn had been built -around- the enormous tree, but frankly, he had more important things to think about than tracking down the history of his current residence. The end of the war would come very, very soon. He could feel it.  
  
And then, then he could keep his promise to Tomoe. To find another way of life. Once the new era dawned, he would be free to do her gift justice.   
  
But, it really did prove hard to think about the new era with a gash in your leg. Damn that Saitou Hajime. Damn the Shinsengumi. Damn his shoes. Damn the rain. If it hadn't been for them, he wouldn't have slipped and fell when he had jumped onto the roof to evade capture or, well, death. Though, as far as he knew, the former would probably be far worse than the latter where the Shinsengumi were concerned.  
  
"Don't lurk around, Hyobe-san," Himura murmured as he re-wrapped the wound. "If you have something to say, come out and say it."  
  
Hyobe Otani stepped out of the shadows of the enclosed engawa and onto one of the roots of the massive tree. Except for his obscenely long fingernails (which, apparently, had to do with some sort of superstition the man held), Hyobe was a rather unimpressive man, with a short top-knot and moonish face. Still, he had proved to be far more agreeable than Iizuka, his predecessor.  
  
"Just came to see how you were doing. Heard you were wounded last night."  
  
Himura shot the man a deadly glare. "The rain. I misplaced my footing. That is all."  
  
The cross-scared assassin's tone made Hyobe feel like backing up, but instead held his ground. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. I seriously just wanted to know if you were alright. Katsura-san would have my head if your leg fell off or something."  
  
"I am fine."  
  
"Uh, anyway," Hyobe muttered, plopping down between two tree roots, "You missed everything that happened while you were gone. Katsura-san showed up around midnight. There's going to be a meeting here today, they say, with the leaders of the Hachinisasareru. Almost everyone we can spare has been sent away."  
  
"Hn." Himura feigned indifference, but the tiny spark of curiosity wavered in his mind. The Hachinisasareru. He'd really only ever heard of them in the gossip of the other Ishin Shishi. Whispers in dark corners, a secrecy and fear bested only by the name 'Hitokiri Battousai'. Hardly anyone knew if the Hachinisasareru were even -real-, or just a legend told to keep men on their wives' good sides.   
  
But, earlier that year, it was rumored, Katsura had struck up a tentative alliance with the bizarre kunoichi clan. It seemed the Hachinisasareru wanted the new era to dawn as fervently as the Ishin Shishi. They had their own ideas about what this change would bring, certain new freedoms and rights for women, more legal protection for children, especially orphans. So, in order to procure what they wished, they had offered their services to the Ishin Shishi, gathering information as spies in prominent samurai and politician households. At inns and restaurants. Wherever a man would prove far too suspect, the Hachinisasareru wormed their way in.  
  
But the alliance was quite fragile. Neither side truly trusted the other. Several Ishin Shishi men who had roughed up some prostitutes had turned up poisoned the next week, and the Hachinisasareru had been top suspects. And a supposed kunoichi of that clan believed to be selling Ishin Shishi secrets had been hung from the roof of an apothecary believed to be a Hachinisasareru stronghold.  
  
All in all, nobody trusted anyone.  
  
"Have you met them, the Hachinisasareru?" Himura asked Hyobe.  
  
"Yeah. I've been to two different meetings with Katsura-san involving those kunoichi. Let me give you some advice, Battousai, don't speak to them. Don't -ever- speak to them."  
  
"Eh?" But Himura's inquiry was cut off by a shoji on the far side of the courtyard sliding open. Katsura walked out first, followed by several bulky bodyguards. Then, Himura saw the women. Five in total, they all wore identical garments, black kimonos with yellow obis and yellow shoulder sashes. But the strangest thing was, except for the woman at the front, they all had twisted pieces of cloth tied around their mouths. Gags.   
  
One of the bodyguards opened another shoji, an entrance to a large and formal room often used for important meetings. The eldest woman, the only one free to speak, nodded to two of the women, both of which appeared to be several years younger than the eighteen year old hitokiri. "Keisuke. Ienobu. Stay outside and alert us to any trouble."  
  
The two young women both bowed their heads in acquiescence as their mistress and the two remaining kunoichi stepped into the room, followed by the bodyguards. This left only Katsura, who had halted on the engawa. He now stood, smiling gently, looking at Himura and Hyobe.   
  
"Himura-san, if you would watch over these ladies, and see that no harm befalls them, I would appreciate it greatly."  
  
Kenshin's head dipped slightly in wordless response. He understood the true meaning behind Katsura's request without thought. 'Watch them. Don't let them go anywhere.'  
  
Himura pulled the leg of his hakama down over his newly re-dressed wound and glanced at Hyobe, who appeared to be picking clean his absurd fingernails with a sharpened tanto. Ignoring the lieutenant, Himura pulled himself up, making every effort not to walk like a wounded man, and crossed the immaculately tended courtyard.  
  
As he approached, he noticed what he could not have from the distance. The younger of the two girls, likely no more than thirteen or fourteen, had bright purple hair bound in two long braids. The other, a year or two older, stood with remarkable confidence, peering at the world around her as if she were destined to own everything in it.  
  
All in all, the two girls were rather...disconcerting.  
  
Now slightly more curious, Kenshin probed their respective kis as he sat down on the edge of the engawa, drawing one leg up underneath his body and bending the other knee to lean against. Nothing. Well, that was to be expected. They were ninjas, after all, experts in secrecy and hiding.  
  
At least he wouldn't be expected to make conversation.  
  
He watched the two girls out of the corner of his eye. They had taken up positions on either side of the shoji, but after a few minutes, both seemed remarkably listless. The purple-haired one shifted her weight constantly, and the other resorted to flexing her fingers in front of her determined face.  
  
The younger of the two girls sighed into her gag, turning her head to look at the one their mistress had called "Keisuke" expectantly. In turn, Keisuke nodded and reached into the sleeve of her kimono, retrieving a small package no larger than a finger. She untied the string around the bundle and removed a long needle.  
  
Kenshin watched as Keisuke held up the needle and then proceeded to lace it through the skin on the back of her longest finger, wincing openly at the pain.  
  
Ienobu's eyes grew wide, and Kenshin fought his hardest not to change his own expression. Keisuke pulled the back of her hand towards her face, hiding the needle from the two onlookers. Her other hand darted out, snapping twice, the sound reverberating through the courtyard.  
  
When Keisuke turned her hand back around, the needle was gone, and no blood could be seen. She grinned into her gag as Ienobu hopped and clapped quietly.  
  
The older girl tilted her head and peered down Kenshin. The look in her eyes, a demand, perhaps? No, a challenge. He'd misread it due to the fact that most of the challenges issued to him had to do with swordfighting. Kenshin fought the urge to look away from the girl. She should be afraid. Everyone else was afraid. A sensible woman would be trembling from his mere proximity.  
  
So. She was either insane, ignorant, or too innocent to realize the danger.  
  
But, a challenge was a challenge.  
  
Kenshin could only think of one response, a puzzle that his master had taught him long ago to teach some moral now lost to time. He bent down to untie the lace from his left waraji. Holding up the string, he quickly performed a series of loops and twists, creating a complicated web between his fingers. At the middle was a small hole.  
  
"Put your hand in," he said to the purple-haired one. Ienobu looked to the elder girl questioningly and recieved a nod to proceed. Dipping her hand tentatively into the middle, Ienobu peered at Kenshin. At least -she- seemed afraid.   
  
Kenshin quickly pulled the loose ends of the waraji lace. The thread bounced and danced. And though it seemed as if Ienobu's hand should have become tied by the string and the unwinding of the complicated knot, her hand ended up outside of the loop.   
  
Ienobu turned over her hand in surprise, looking down at the redheaded man. No. She was looking at his legs. Or rather, the tear in his hakama from falling last night. He hadn't repaired it yet.  
  
Ienobu knelt down beside Kenshin and pointed at the tear, and then motioned Keisuke over. The elder girl, too, bent to inspect the rip. She produced her needle yet again and looked at Kenshin, expecting an answer to her unsaid query.  
  
"No. I'll stitch it later. Don't bother."  
  
Ienobu's hands pressed together, as if in silent prayer, begging to be allowed to complete the task.   
  
Well. He didn't want to offend their allies.  
  
And that is how the Hitokiri Battousai ended up having his hakama patched by Fusada Ienobu and Tokorago Keisuke of the Hachinisasareru.  
  
It wasn't long after that when the other Hachinisasareru and Ishin Shishi re-emerged from the meeting room. As Katsura's bodyguards led the women away, Kenshin stood to speak with his waiting superior.  
  
"It went well, Katsura-san?"  
  
"Yes. We've renewed the alliance for at least another two seasons. I hate to involve women in such affairs, but if I did not, the Hachinisasareru would still continue to put themselves in harm's way. Their Okashira is a strangely independent and headstrong woman. Her ideas about the world make even mine seem old-fashioned."  
  
Kenshin said nothing to this. He was still replaying the last fifteen minutes over in his head. What were the Hachinisasareru? Dealers of death? Consummate spies? Or just simple women?   
  
"Katsura-san," the hitokiri said, his voice low, "Why..."  
  
"The gags? Ah. Because the most accomplished and high-ranking Hachinisasareru are reputed to be able to use their voices to persuade men of anything, even to take their own lives. It may just be a rumor, idle gossip, but I suppose it is one that they, themselves, reinforce. Whenever they meet with their allies, they wear the gags just as a samurai might remove his sword. They wish to show their intent is harmless." Katsura looked at the shorter man to gauge his reaction, which was, as always, pointless. The hitokiri he had created masked everything behind a frozen exterior..  
  
"I see."  
  
Katsura closed his eyes in thought. Would he go to hell for what he had done to the young man standing beside him? It seemed entirely likely. "I heard you were wounded. You are recovering?"  
  
"The rain. I merely slipped." Kenshin turned, deciding he would return to his room. "I appreciate your concern."  
  
"I hope to see you tonight at dinner, then." Katsura stepped forward, one of the few people, no, perhaps the only person on earth, who had no qualms about having his back turned to the legendary assassin. "And Himura?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"You're missing one of your shoes."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kyoto, 1867. Early winter.  
  
Kenshin pulled Tomoe's blue scarf more tightly around his neck. Winter this year would prove harsh if already the chill crept into his flesh so vehemently. Well, maybe it wasn't the cold that caused his shivers so much as the night's task.  
  
He walked the deserted road alone, keeping himself to the shadows as best he could, his hearing already becoming impossibly keen. Disheartening, indeed, how quickly he returned to the habits and defenses of the hitokiri. Would he ever be able to put them aside?  
  
Three months now. Three months since he had been in possession of an item similar to the one he'd received today. The black envelope. Hyobe had come to his room in the morning, that businesslike look on his face, the one that imparted such a sinking cruelty to Kenshin's soul.   
  
"Himura-san..."  
  
Kenshin looked away from the man, gazing out the open shoji at the enormous tree in the courtyard below. He already knew what Hyobe wanted.  
  
They didn't ask him often now. Not with the Hitokiri of Shadows, his replacement, so eagerly on the job. No. Now Kenshin spent his days as a bodyguard for Katsura-san, and his nights holding back the Shinsengumi.  
  
"You have a man for that sort of thing, do you not, Hyobe?"  
  
"The new hitokiri has been injured. And it can't wait. The man in question is an advisor to Matsudaira of Aizu. He's drawn up a proposal for new laws which will prove devastating to the movements of the Ishin Shishi, which he plans to present tomorrow. It is believed Matsudaira will take his advice and..."  
  
"Stop." Kenshin held up his hand, "There is no need to divulge such details. They are unimportant to the task."  
  
"You will do it, then?"  
  
Kenshin didn't say anything. Of course he would do it. A hitokiri is a hitokiri unto death. He should not have expected to be so easily freed from his fate. Hyobe, noting the other man's suddenly extremely icy demeanor, put the black envelope on the top of the nearby pile of books.  
  
"Is there anything else?" Kenshin asked.  
  
"Aa," Hyobe replied, folding his arms into the sleeves of his gi. "You will have to do it at his house. There is a wife and a daughter. Let them escape."  
  
"I may be many things, Hyobe-san, but I do not kill women and children." Kenshin winced at his own words, glad he had his back turned to the other man. Well, he didn't kill them on -purpose-, that was for certain.  
  
"Good."  
  
But that exchange had been hours ago, and the passing of time had brought no reprieve from the inevitability of the night's task. The scar on his cheek stung, rendered raw by the cold night wind. Tomoe wouldn't approve of this, but, he would spend his entire life making up for it if he had to do so. After the new era dawned. Just a little longer...  
  
Kenshin approached the house, fully aware that Hyobe and one of the newer Ishin Shishi recruits sat in the limbs of a tall tree across the road. The hitokiri easily hopped up onto the top of the stone wall surrounding the property.   
  
The home of Kojirou Tanagi. A plain house, traditional. No guards. Not too close to any of the other houses on the street. Good. Kenshin was fast, but still, killing someone in their own home was far different than striking them down in the street.   
  
With a parting glance to the men in the tree, Kenshin disappeared into the yard below, making his way to the side shoji that he sensed would likely be closest to the bedrooms. Not a sound. Even the wind had died suddenly, as if it, too, were holding back from breathing. Kenshin made his way down the hallway, taking slow, even steps.  
  
No. Something was wrong. Even in the dim light he could see that the shoji at the far end of the hall had been torn away and lay against the floor, ruined.  
  
The smell of blood. He'd been holding his breath, but now the odor of death assaulted his senses. Kenshin's hand flew to his katana as he raced forward, entering the room to find an atrocious scene of gore.   
  
Blood. Everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. Soaking into the thick blankets on the futon. The two bodies lay like discarded dolls, ripped open as thoughtlessly as a wrapped gift given to a small child.   
  
Kenshin bent to inspect the wounds. The man...and his wife...had both definitely been killed by the same sort of weapon. But, not a sword. This was not a lean blade such as found on a katana, kodachi or tanto. No. Much thicker. With a thrust rather than a slash. A rouchin, perhaps?  
  
But, who? And why?  
  
Guilt immediately followed the relief which washed over Kenshin. So, he wouldn't have to be a hitokiri on this night, after all. Still, two people had died, the woman needlessly, it seemed. The reprieve, while welcomed, didn't really make him feel exactly glad.  
  
Kenshin made his way to the back yard, the designated spot where he was to meet Hyobe. The two Ishin Shishi men were already there, waiting. The winter wind had picked up once again, causing the men to huddle close, if not for warmth, then to be able to hear one other.  
  
"That was fast, Battousai," Hyobe said, "And not a drop on you."  
  
"They were already dead."  
  
"Nani?"  
  
Kenshin felt a small prickle at the back of his neck. His gaze darted towards the house. "The man and his wife. Already dead. I suggest you go in and search the place to find out why."  
  
The two men nodded and headed up the steps of the engawa into the house, leaving the man known as the Hitokiri Battousai standing in the yard.  
  
Kenshin glanced again at the house. Yes. Underneath the porch. Something so tiny, he'd barely even noticed it. A ki that shuddered as it grew more and more miniscule, drawing in upon itself. He couldn't make out much more than her eyes and the tears which wet her cheeks, both of which reflected the white of the full moon.   
  
The little girl.   
  
Well, that was...not good. Still, there was no reason to harm her. If he left, she could easily escape through the back gate. But, the real question was, would she? She seemed almost paralyzed with fear.   
  
He couldn't really...just...leave an orphan like that. To make her way in the world absolutely alone. Maybe he could protect...no. He still had much to do to bring about the new era.   
  
But, the women who had given their lives to save him... He couldn't really...just turn away? Wasn't it innocents like these for which he had fought in the first place?  
  
Yes. So, it was decided then. He'd go for now, assist the other men in reporting to Katsura-san. Then, he'd return in the morning, and if the child was still present, he'd take her someplace safe. There were some nuns at the outskirts of the city sympathetic to the Ishin Shishi. Surely they would take the girl in.   
  
His mind resolved, Kenshin walked towards the porch and into the house, never saying a word to the frightened girl hiding in the shadows.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They had poured over the documents from the ransacked house far into the night. Or, rather, the others had. Kenshin just sat, patiently waiting for them to come up with some sort of explanation. Around dawn, he excused himself, and left the Makaze Inn, his mind becoming clearer with each step.   
  
This definitely felt -right-. Saving this girl was something -tangible-, Something he could look to as proof that he had not become completely inhuman since Tomoe's death.  
  
But, as he approached the Tanagi house, the scent of fire made itself known only seconds before the glow of the blaze. The house. Burning. A crowd was collecting by the front gate, so Kenshin quickly changed his stride and turned down a side street to approach the property from behind.  
  
The little girl. Was she still there? Under the porch? Deftly, Kenshin hopped the wall and let his trained eyes search through the smoke and heat.   
  
No. No. She wasn't. Surely....surely she had escaped. But who? How? Did the killer return only to burn down the house? Why not do so the first time he had been there?  
  
Kenshin leaned against the stone wall, watching the conflagration eat away the walls of the rapidly disappearing home. He should have pulled her out from underneath the porch before. But...really...what would he have said? "I came to kill your father, but since I didn't, and he and your mother are dead anyway, I'm going to save you." Ridiculous. What did he think he was? Some sort of hero?  
  
"Interesting. Are you a moth drawn to a flame, or might you be here for a different reason, Battousai?"  
  
Kenshin looked up, drawing his katana and jumping away from the voice all in one movement. Through the smoke, he made out the small figure, even smaller than himself, perched on the edge of the stone wall. Why hadn't he sensed....? As the breeze blew the caustic smoke aside, Kenshin understood. It was the Hachinisasareru girl known as 'Keisuke'.  
  
"Calm...Battousai..."  
  
Her voice seeped into his soul, almost like sake, or perhaps a long-needed sleep. And, he had to admit, he did feel himself becoming...strangely calm.  
  
"Was this done by your people?" Kenshin asked, re-sheathing his sword.  
  
"Nay," Keisuke replied, hopping down to the ground. "We received word of the danger. I was to escort the woman and the girl back to our headquarters, but it appears I was too late."  
  
"Who, then? And why?" Kenshin was in no mood to have a conversation, really. But, Katsura would be disappointed if Kenshin missed the opportunity to assist the Ishin Shishi in solving the mystery that had plagued them all evening.  
  
"The Bakufu. They've gone and procured themselves an assassin." Keisuke clicked her tongue, as if mildly disgusted by the prospect, "The woman who died here was the daughter of the Hachinisasareru Okashira. They found out about her origins and believed that she was using her husband to gain sensitive information about the shogunate's plans and passing it to our clan. Or, perhaps they thought he was giving up that information willingly. Either way, they saw the Tanagis as a threat, and had them killed."  
  
"Then who set the fire?"  
  
"Unfortunately, I have no idea." Keisuke looked at the blaze and shrugged, "It's too bad about the young daughter, hm?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
Too bad. Too bad that he couldn't even save one little girl.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Lies!" Tokio hissed, slamming the heel of her hand down onto the engawa. "I can not, I will not, believe you. My mother was an upright woman. A good woman. Not some sort of ninja!"  
  
Kenshin bowed his head, taking a tentative step towards the now visibly upset woman. "Sessha is certain that she was, indeed, a good woman, I am. But, I understand now why you are so upset. If you are here, then sessha assumes you are perhaps the one who set fire to the house?"  
  
"I didn't want anyone to...see them. Not like that. I didn't want anyone to know...how brutal... I can't let...I don't want to be in pain anymore..."   
  
"Sessha is sorry, Tokio-dono. But, if your mother was a good woman, then she must have raised a good daughter. Do you think she would want to see you hurt Ayame, Suzume, Yahiko and Kaoru? Would she wish you to die? For your unborn child to die?"  
  
Tokio sucked in air through her teeth. "That is the way it must be. You can't possibly understand. Your face is the one that haunts me. You are the one... You must be the one..."  
  
Sanosuke looked like he was getting ready to say something, but Kenshin held up his hand to silence his friend. "The man who killed your parents is dead, Tokio-dono. I know, because I saw his lifeless body as we escaped from Shishio's Mt. Hiei hideout, that I did. He is the man your husband fought and killed that day, Usui of the Shingan. There is no need to hold on to your need for revenge any longer."  
  
"No...I...I won't believe...I don't want to..." Tokio reached into the sewing basket she had brought out with the double-bladed katana and retrieved an object which startled both Sanosuke and Kenshin.  
  
A shuko.  
  
Tokio slipped on her claws and fastened them with one swift movement. "It doesn't matter, then. I can't...take the pain..." The whispering woman lifted the claws to her naked throat and closed her eyes. "I'll do it for you. We'll go together, this time, little one. There is no need to be alone..."   
  
"Quit being so goddamned melodramatic, Tokio. Put the shuko away."  
  
Tokio's eyes shot open. No. No, it couldn't be. He wasn't supposed to see her again, not alive. "Hajime..."  
  
The man in question emerged from shadows beneath the overhang of the dojo's gate. He strode confidently across the yard, a vision of decisiveness so opposite to his wife's current distraught demeanor. The blazing sun caused his slicked back hair to reflect an almost purple sheen, which, when combined with the ferocity in his yellow eyes, made him seem like a strike of lightning in the night.  
  
"How long has he been there, eh?" Sanosuke murmured to the rurouni at his side.  
  
"Quite a while," Kenshin replied.  
  
"Did you not hear me, Tokio? This foolishness has gone on long enough. Regain your sanity. And, if you can not do that, at least admit your selfishness. Admit your weakness. You and I both know what you really want, even if these morons can't grasp the truth."  
  
Tokio's shoulders fell as the woman shrunk away from her husband's voice. Her words stuck in her throat. " I want...revenge..."  
  
"Hn. You are already avenged, Tokio. Unwittingly, certainly, but avenged nonetheless. You know it is the truth. Himura Battousai may be pathetic, but he's not particularly skilled at lying." Saitou's gaze shifted briefly to take in Kenshin's reaction. There was none, as it seemed the rurouni and his friend were trying to figure out if they'd just been insulted or complimented. "No, Tokio, you've wrapped yourself so tightly in a cloak of fears, indulged so freely in your own anguish that you can see nothing else. How revoltingly self-serving. Did you not think of Okita? Or Naoya? What of Eiji? Your selfish actions have put even the boy in danger. He's eaten the poisoned cakes as well, since you were so thoughtless as to leave them where they could be found."  
  
"Eiji-chan?" Tokio whispered, her shuko still pressing at her neck. "But..."  
  
"Aa. Perhaps you are unworthy to be a mother, indeed. So, do it. I give you leave to run yourself through. I do not want a wife such as the one you have become. But, do it with me watching. Do it with the knowledge of how disgusted I am at the scene I now witness. I will not curse you after you die, no, I will never think of you again. 'The entirety of a man's life can be seen in his death.' Thus is the way of bushido. To die now is irrational and insane, and renders the life you have lived pointless."  
  
"Hajime, don't..." Tokio bit her lip as her husband quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm waiting, Tokio."  
  
The shuko fell to Tokio's lap as she buried her face in her free hand, sobbing deeply. "I'm...sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
Saitou stepped forward, lifting the hand wearing the shuko and removing the sharp weapon. This he tossed aside as he knelt on the engawa next to his wife. His hand wound around her thin wrist, tugging it away from her face. "Tokio, this is no time to fall to self-pity. You've put people in danger. Now, you must discern a way to save them."  
  
It took Tokio several seconds to stop crying enough to form an answer. "There isn't any need. They are all merely sleeping deeply, and should wake within a few hours time."  
  
"What?" Sanosuke exclaimed, muttering curses as he realized his friends were never in danger. "So..."  
  
"I see," Kenshin added, "If killing you didn't bring out the hitokiri within, then you believed that the realization that I had done so without accomplishing anything certainly would."  
  
Tokio nodded in response, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.  
  
Saitou looked at the two men standing in the yard, the edges of his lips upturning into a mild snarl, "Do you mind? I'd like to speak to my wife privately."  
  
"Hey, you arrogant fuck, we live here!"  
  
"Sano," Kenshin whispered, "You -don't- live here."  
  
"Well, I..." This stumped him. Shrugging, Sano thrust his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to go check on Jou-chan and the brats. Come on, Kenshin."  
  
"Aa." Kenshin took one last look at the woman on the engawa. Definitely a different sort of enemy than he had ever fought before. But, what if he -had- killed her parents? What if the truth had been what she suspected? The idea wasn't out of the range of possibility. Would he have...? The question gave him a headache. Today had been merely lucky. And living on luck certainly didn't make him feel better.  
  
As the two men disappeared around the side of the building, Saitou regarded his wife coolly. "How long, Tokio?"  
  
"Three months. The night you told me of your Kyoto mission, as best I can deduce." Tokio head hung limply forward, too ashamed to even look at her husband. "Hajime, I don't want... I can't go through it, not again."  
  
"Aa, Kitty, I know." Saitou reached up to push the moist hair away from his wife's face. "But, you will not do so alone. If you are traveling down my road with me, then I am also to travel your road with you. We are forever together, no matter what happens, no matter who tries to interfere, no matter what losses we encounter."  
  
Tokio leaned forward to press her face against her husband's shoulder. He caught the back of her head with his hand, stroking her hair to soothe her. "Hajime, I'm so frightened."  
  
"Hn. I did not marry a coward. I married a woman who can brave out a year alone, who fought back when kidnapped, who helped ensnare one of the Juppon Gatana, and who, on a rare occasion, makes mildly amusing jokes."  
  
Tokio attempted to smile against her husband's shirt, but found that the tight lump in her throat prevented anything more than a choked sigh. "I tried to strangle Himura with my scarf."  
  
"So ka? I would have enjoyed seeing that. Don't worry, I've done the same thing. He has such a scrawny little neck. It merely invites strangling."  
  
"Are you angry, Hajime?"  
  
Saitou pried her away from his shirt, "Aa, Tokio-neko. What you did today was stupid beyond compare. And on top of everything, I missed work."  
  
"Kami-sama," Tokio whispered, hushed tones dripping forced sarcasm, "We can't have that."  
  
"Hn." Saitou glared at his wayward wife, but the harshness in his expression quickly fell away. He reached up, tracing her cheeks with his callused touch. "Tokio, I want to..." His hand slid over the taught fabric of Tokio's obi, pressing against the loose material at her stomach. "Here, hm?"  
  
Tokio wrapped her hand around her husband's and repositioned it slightly lower over the yet outwardly imperceptible bulge. "No, here."  
  
Saitou grinned, his canines prominent in his wolfish smile.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Eh? Can't a man be proud to get his wife pregnant?"  
  
"Come, Hajime, it isn't like it was hard."  
  
Saitou leaned forward and pressed his lips against Tokio's left earlobe, "No, Tokio, I do believe that is one of the prerequisites."  
  
Tokio pursed her lips and attempted a fruitless punch against her husband's shoulder. Saitou sat back up and said, "Yare yare, haven't you had enough of fighting for one day? Lets go home, Tokio. This place irritates me."  
  
Tokio nodded meekly as her husband stood, extending his hand to pull her up. The pair walked together to the gate, where Saitou reached into the shadows and pulled out the item stashed there.  
  
"What a ridiculous object," Saitou muttered, turning away from his wife briefly to toss the sakabatou into the dojo yard.  
  
It landed with a resounding clank. And as husband and wife left the dojo, the dust kicked up by the falling sword settled.   
  
There it lay, among sprouts of grass and weeds, the sakabatou's sheath caught between two long blades of the discarded shuko.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Four Months Later.  
  
"Fat women walk so slowly," Eiji complained, rolling his eyes as he slowed his pace, yet again, so that he wouldn't get too far ahead of Tokio.   
  
"Eiji-chan, I believe Fujita-san explained to you that I am fat for a reason, did he not?"  
  
"Yeah," Eiji muttered, recalling the terrifying speech that Saitou had given him which included such disturbing phrases as, 'impaled with the sword of manhood', and 'delicious cries of a woman's need'. Thankfully, the speech had ended in a muttered curse and the command, "Go ask Okita."  
  
"It's terribly nice to have a walk, don't you think, Eiji-chan? This winter has proven so mild." Tokio pulled her warm haori at the collar, delighting in the feel of the rabbit fur she had indulged in for the trimmings. She had to beg, pretty much, just to be allowed out of the house anymore. Naoya, Okita, Eiji and Saitou all used their various means of persuasion to keep her from doing anything even as mildly strenuous as walking to the marketplace. Even Chou, who now often accompanied Naoya around the city, would cross his arms and say, "Get back in the house, Tokio-san, I ain't fucking kidding."  
  
"It's chilly though," Eiji said, "You should let me make soba for dinner. And miso, too."  
  
"Well, perhaps. There shall be so many eating at our house tonight."  
  
The pair arrived at their destination shortly. Tokio rapped on the gate of the Kamiya dojo and pulled it open to find the residents engaged in their usual daily activities.   
  
"Tokio-san," Kaoru exclaimed, moving aside to dodge the swing of Yahiko's shinai, "What a wonderful surprise. What brings you out today? Shouldn't you be home? And Eiji-chan, how could you let her walk all this way?"  
  
Eiji merely shrugged. He was beginning to get the idea that, pretty much, it was vaguely useless to argue with a stubborn pregnant woman.  
  
"Tokio-dono, you are looking well, that you are," Kenshin said, glancing up from his laundry at the visitors. "You've not come to try to kill me again, sessha hopes?"  
  
"Thank you, and no," Tokio whispered, her hand resting on the growing roundness in her midsection. "I'm afraid Eiji-chan and I can't stay for long. I merely wished to bring something for you, Himura-san." Tokio reached into her haori and brought out a neatly folded pile of olive green cloth. "I noticed your gi has been patched beyond repair, Himura-san. I hope you will accept this one as an apology for my previous behavior."  
  
Kenshin dried his hands on his hakama and crossed the yard to take the offered gift from Tokio. "Sessha thanks you, Tokio-dono." He unfolded the gi and pulled it over his current garment, letting the heavy fabrics drape his small frame. "It is very fine, that it is. Sessha has never had such a well-made gi."  
  
"Well," Tokio replied with a soft smile, "It is befitting a legendary swordsman. Don't you think, Kaoru-san?"  
  
"It looks great, Kenshin!" Kaoru chirped, "Now you can throw away that other horrid gi. I swear, I don't know how that old one holds together anymore."  
  
"Oro? But...but..."  
  
Tokio smirked and placed one hand gently on top of the rurouni's. "You don't have to wear it, if you don't want, Himura-san. Just keep it. Perhaps you can wear it when you have your final duel with my husband? I'd like that."  
  
"Yes, I shall," Kenshin replied. "Thank you, Tokio-dono."  
  
"No, thank you, Himura-san." Tokio looked down at the boy at her side, "Well, Eiji-chan, shall we?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The pair made their goodbyes and left the dojo. As they headed down the road, Tokio suddenly stopped, an odd look crossing her face.  
  
"Auntie Tokio? What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"Eiji-chan...I need...I need..."  
  
Eiji's eyes grew wide with apprehension.  
  
"I need beef. Lots of beef. And pickled radishes, too."  
  
The boy breathed a sigh of relief and then rolled his eyes. "Alright, Auntie Tokio, lets get more food in you."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou leaned against the post on the side engawa, watching the gate out of the corner of his eye. No, he wasn't watching the gate. He was just taking a break.  
  
Suddenly, the upside-down face of a smiling Okita Souji was peering at him.  
  
"You'd best come up, Saitou-san. I do believe Chou is about to take a sword to the roof tiles."  
  
"I should have put him in jail instead of having him help us build this extra room. We'd have probably been done quicker."  
  
"Hai, hai," Okita chuckled, as his head swung from side to side, "But, it would have been so much less amusing."  
  
As Okita pulled himself back onto the roof, the front gate opened, and Tokio and Eiji stepped into the courtyard.  
  
Saitou turned his head to watch his wife pad carefully up the steps of the engawa, Eiji hovering at her side. She'd become incredibly clumsy around the fifth or six month, her growing belly throwing off the remarkable ninja-trained grace with which she usually moved.   
  
But, ah, how she glowed. For once so radiant with life that even he had a hard time leaving her side. As each passing day made it more certain that this child would not be lost, a little sadness dissolved from her eyes.   
  
Her child. His child. Something they had made...together. It affected him in ways even he could not fully comprehend. He'd always loved Tokio, cherished her, adored her beyond what his severe demeanor could express. But now, now he needed to protect -her-. It had always been Japan for which his time and effort had been given, but, for these few months, that could wait. Just this once.  
  
Because they both knew that the most dangerous part yet lay ahead.   
  
Even the fox-doctor couldn't deny it. "There is a very great chance that Tokio will not survive the birth. Outwardly, the sword wound has healed a great deal in eight years time, but there is no way to tell the conditions of the organs beyond."  
  
"The roof is coming well?" Tokio asked, moving to stand next to her husband.  
  
"Aa," Saitou sniffed briefly at the air and narrowed his eyes, "Ugh. Beef, again, Tokio?"  
  
"Yeah!" Eiji said, hopping off the engawa. "And pickled radishes. And just about everything else she could lay her hands on. That's not a baby in there, it's the entire country of China."  
  
"I do believe you had your part in helping me eat, Eiji-chan."  
  
Eiji shrugged. "Well, I'm a growing boy, you know. Anyway, I'll go get some wood and start your bath Auntie Tokio."  
  
"Thank you, Eiji. I would appreciate it."  
  
The boy disappeared around the side of the house, leaving the pair alone.   
  
"He's such a good boy," Tokio whispered, moving in front of her husband. His hand instinctively wrapped around her waist, coming to lay on the swell of her stomach. The rather animalistic need to protect the priceless pair of mother and unborn child so overwhelmed him that Saitou found himself grinding his teeth.   
  
"Hn. Less annoying than some."  
  
"I should go in and make tea for everyone."  
  
"No," Saitou said, his voice firm, "You should bathe and go to bed. I forbid you from walking that far again."  
  
"Am I to be a prisoner in my own home?"  
  
"For the next two months..." Saitou's statement was cut off by a terrible noise starting on the roof above them and ending somewhere behind the newly built room, and punctuated by Okita's voice uttering a piercing yell of "EIJI!"  
  
"Oh -shit-!" Chou's voice called, "Boss! Come quick. It's 'Kita-san. He's fallen off the fuckin' roof!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Oh no! Okita's fallen off the roof! Will he be alright? Will Tokio survive childbirth? Will -Saitou-? And Okashira Iyoko arrives in Tokyo, what does she plan to do? Stay tuned to find out!  
  
***Author Notes:  
  
Deary me, make the terrible angst and melodrama of this chapter -end-. Well, I am thinking that this will be the chapter that people either deeply love or just completely hate. It remains to be seen.  
  
Anyway, originally this was actually the end of Chapter 15, but I decided to split them into two.   
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
Not really anything important here. We don't know -much- about the time between when Tomoe died and when Kenshin began to wander, so I had to make up some details.   
  
The green gi is, of course, supposed to be the one that Kenshin wears in Seisouhen.   
  
This doesn't really have much to do with the -chronicle-, per se, but I wanted to touch on something that annoys me about many RK stories: Ki perception. From what I understand, this is a warrior's ability to sense the spirit of another warrior. Basically, it is "spidey sense". It can be very easily abused, I find, becoming a crutch for the characters if you let it.   
  
In this story, I have decided that our three main "warrior" characters, Saitou, Kenshin, and Okita, all have this sense, but like any other sense, perceive things differently. Just as a trio of artists would all paint a rose differently, or describe the sound of water differently, the ability to sense ki is based on the character's experiences and perceptions.   
  
For this story, Kenshin's ki sense is based on emotions. He is most able to see what is at the core of a person's heart, what they feel. His own ki would most aptly be described as: compassionate.  
  
Okita, on the other hand, has a more nature-based sense. He senses how things fit into the cycle of life. (Extremely evident in his love of animals and nature in general.) Of course, you have probably noticed that I liken his ki most often to that which brings life to nature: sunlight.  
  
For H&T, Saitou's ki sense is cerebral, and he is best suited to use his ki sense to discern a person's motivations and mental stability. This might be why he's often calling other people "ahou", and is definitely why he discerns Tokio's loss of sanity so easily. I'd say his ki could best be described as: crisp and cutting.  
  
I hope this has been somewhat explanatory towards my rationale for each character's ki sense.  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Himura Kenshin: So many people have asked me: "Why do you hate Kenshin so much?" Oh. I do not hate him! I merely try to show him from Saitou and Tokio's points of view, and they tend to focus more on his failings rather than his good points. But, at the same time, I try to keep him in character, letting the reader decide the truth for themselves. Really, I don't try to paint any particular character as expressly "bad" or "good", just as human. Everyone has their failings. Saitou is far too severe and cold, Tokio is too prone to being depressed and self-defeating. And, I hope, this is what makes them good characters. It would be boring if any one character had the upper hand all the time.  
  
Saitou Tokio: Ah. The end of insanity. A few reviewers have asked me questions along the lines of "If Tokio is so good at reading people, why can't she sense that Kenshin has changed, especially when she knows that Okita has?" Well, the easiest answer is that Tokio is blinded by emotions, which are intensified by the fact that she is hormonal from being pregnant and terrified of losing yet another child.   
  
You may or may not have figured out that Tokio's plan consisted of a Plan A and a Plan B. Plan A was to annoy and provoke Kenshin by strangling him in the hopes that he would grab what he -thought- was the sakabatou in order to knock her out. This is, of course, a -stupid- plan, because I find it hard to believe Kenshin would Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu any woman without desperately seeking a way to diffuse the situation first.   
  
Saitou Hajime: Somehow, I found myself deciding that Tokio's pregnancy instills a sort of animalistic need to protect his mate. I hope it came off this way, but I'm not exactly certain that it did. Unfortunately, he doesn't get to be in this chapter much, but I'll make it up to you with Chapter 17.  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Bushido: Code of the samurai.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Wowzers. 300 reviews now. Definitely more than I expected, ever! So many long comments on the last chapter, I can not tell you how much I am honored that you would take the time to tell me which parts of the story you enjoyed, and which irked you. And so many of you liked The Difference Between Shishou and ShishiO, so I am glad I posted it after all.  
  
Anyway, thank you, as always, for your kind comments and gentle criticism. I appreciate it so much. And so, an Extra Special Thank You to: Veleda (Is it what you thought? Or something different?), Shinichi, sawdust monster, lebleuphenix (Yeah. poor Kenshin, never gets a break, eh?), The Narrator (Ack. I do not know what "Ganbatte kudasai yo!" means.), Catnip (Zingy, eh? I like that description.), wazup (I hope it is more understandable now why Tokio was so stupid), Charmed-Anime (Attack of Naoya, ker-pow), bonessasan, SilverNimbus, Misao Mei Mei, Jared/Tofu (Ooo. I am jealous, my copy won't arrive for another week.), and JadeGoddess.  
  
ccs_lover: He is indeed portrayed as cute! Have you seen the Meiji era drawing that of him? Not so cute in that picture. Rather chubby and Buddha-like, actually. Oh well. I will definitely try to check out that manga!  
  
LSR-7: Well. Hiko did kill those bandits that attacked Kenshin's party. But, I suppose that was before the Bakumatsu. Hrm. Oh! I love maccha ice cream too!  
  
fujifunmum: HM. I think perhaps you are right. I wanted to tie the Okita searching for snakes under his porch to Tokio hiding under her porch when she saw Battousai. But, in the end, it didn't turn out quite as well as I expected.   
  
ChiisaiLammy: Oh no. Attack of the hungry ff.net, eh? Wow. I am glad my writing engenders trust. I hope this chapter didn't let you down. Anyway, I do -try- to show -everyone- in an unappealing light from time to time, though I mostly fail where Okita is concerned. The Kenshingumi can be silly, and whiny, and stupid, but we love them nonetheless, eh?  
  
kakashi-fan: Historically, Tokio had a brother and a sister, but they didn't work for my story, so I left them out. Okita? A wife? Oh...dear me. *zips lips* I probably won't get into the Kenshingumi much more after the next chapter except for brief sightings, I'm afraid.  
  
bobo3: Thanks for letting me know! I'd like to take Japanese sometime, myself, but until then, I'll just have to be stuck with my online dictionary and constant butchering of that lovely language.  
  
IceRain: You are -spot- on about Tokio, and I hope this chapter reflects that. She was definitely holding on to something that couldn't have been helped.   
  
darktenshi: Yup, see above character notes for a better description of Tokio's "plan A". As for Saitou getting the sword down with The Force... I did write a brief sketch likening the RK cast to the Star Wars cast. The funniest part, I thought, was where Sano got encased in carbonite, and Okita and Saitou stood around in Storm Trooper gear pointing and laughing. Also incorporated the line, "These are not the rurounis you are looking for."  
  
Pinetar: Nitpicking is OK. I thought I had corrected that, but the night I posted the chapter, we had a storm and I kept losing connection while editing, so I guess I missed some stuff. Oh well.  
  
Animyth: The research isn't as horrible as it seems. Though, I do now have a 3 page log of urls that I use as reference. I've learned a lot, and of course, learning is fun. I thought about writing a fic where Vash ended up at the Kamiya dojo and got briefly mistaken for Chou, but, didn't get much farther than that.  
  
zagato: I would love it if you entered tha fan art contest. No one has yet. You can certainly use other pics to base yours off of, as long as they come out pretty original. I took a look at the cover of Memoirs of a Geisha and I could see that, definitely.   
  
_lone_wolf_236: I agree that there aren't enough Saitou/Tokio romance stories. I see many Saitou/Sanosuke ones, though. I'm afraid it is hard for me to see that pairing, no matter how desperately I try. Anyway, I hope you aren't too annoyed that this chapter focuses a lot on Kenshin and the Kenshingumi. But, it is really the only chapter that will be that way so intensely, though the next one will feature them somewhat heavily as well.   
  
Cat, Avatar for the DCG: How odd that the story wouldn't load. Hrm. Anyway, certainly the doctor has done the nasty before, but...perhaps he is just old and stodgy? Such a silly scene, anyway. Stuck for an ending is my only excuse.  
  
tesuka- chan: Yeah, I think I might have gotten my sense of humor from a Cracker Jack box or something. As for Misao and Sano, I didn't expressly mean to make them annoying, really. But, you have to admit, both of them can be little snits sometimes. Well, I will try to believe in myself more, but sometimes I think it may be self-doubt which drives me to try to do better on every chapter, so that is good, at least. P.S. I hope you do well in the rest of your semester. I work at a University, and I know how stressful November/December can be for students!  
  
aiteane: Ah! Very good question. I think Tokio believed that Saitou would have woken up before Eiji, discovered the cakes, and figured everything out. Anyway, hope this chapter brightens your day!  
  
Two Hydrogens: ff.net appears to get hungry for text sometimes. Anyway, I thought that writing Tokio as a happy child would give more insight into what she felt she lost. Your comment about the glass was quite perceptive, and upon re-reading, I can see where it would seem odd. I did mean glass as in container rather than the substance, but probably could have used a better word. I had to wonder if middle class Meiji families would have had access to Chinese porcelain. Probably not, though.   
  
vegetachanlover: I'm glad you liked the Eiji blurps. Originally, there was supposed to be an extra scene in this chapter where Eiji wakes up and berates Tokio for making him miss practicing for the kite contest, but it didn't go anywhere, so I left it out.   
  
Cherry Delight: Naoya/Chou -odd-? Bah. Well, much better, I think, than what some people were suggesting: Naoya and Okita. Now that just -frightens- me. Which brings me to the question: Is Okita -gay-? Why hasn't someone snapped him up yet? Ah, well, not everyone is the marrying type, I suppose. Do you think that Saitou would self destruct if Tokio died? Hm. I think he'd pretty much repress all emotion until he became a ball of devastating fury or went insane. As for Tokio talking in her sleep, well....that, hopefully, will be revealed in the next chapter! 


	18. Chapter 17: Of Butterflies and Duels

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 17 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Happiness is a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."  
  
--Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804 - 1864  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kenshin sat, leaning against the wall of the dojo's practice room, a green gi draped across his knees. Green. It was the color of leaves, grass, of growth, really. He fingered the scar in his cheek absently as he stared at the opposite wall. The past. How easy it was to be wrapped up in the past. Even with the best intentions, with the gentlest heart, being so singularly focused could drive a man, or woman, to insanity.  
  
He'd known, almost instantly, that Saitou Tokio didn't really want to hurt anyone. But, she had become blind to everything around her merely through her need for resolution. It made Kenshin briefly wonder if he, too, had been focusing too decidedly on just one thing, blocking out other possibilities.  
  
And then there was Saitou Hajime to consider. Even though he lived every moment by the ideals of the Shinsengumi, he didn't appear to be mired in the past. He was constantly looking to the future, to a better Japan. Not to mention building himself a family. Which definitely was, Kenshin had to admit, decidedly disturbing.  
  
Ten years of wandering. But, was it wandering, or just running? It felt more like the latter. Running from himself, running from the hoards who wanted revenge, running from what the new Meiji government wanted of him, running from connections to anyone or anything.   
  
And then he'd come to the dojo. And, briefly, he felt like he could stop running. But, in reality, maybe he hadn't stopped that journey after all. Because, like Tokio, he'd never truly been able to accept the death of someone he loved so dearly. Certainly, Tomoe had changed him, changed his outlook, given him hope. But, there was a difference between atoning for what he had done, and becoming stuck in the sadness of it.   
  
"Kenshin?" Kaoru murmured, slipping past the half-open door, "Oh, there you are."  
  
"Did you need something of Sessha, Kaoru-dono?"  
  
"No, I..." Kaoru stepped inside and pulled the shoji closed. "I was just wondering where you went off to. You looked strange after Tokio-san left. Is everything alright?"  
  
Kenshin hesitated. His first instinct was to tell her, of course, that everything was fine. His usual response. But, wouldn't that just be more running? No. That needed to come to an end. "Sessha was thinking of Tokio-dono and Enishi."  
  
"Mm? I still can't believe that Tokio-san tried to kill you. Or herself. Or whatever. I still don't understand it all. Yet, I'm glad that she is doing better now. I think she'll make a great mother."  
  
Kenshin looked momentarily surprised, "You do?"  
  
"Well, yes, Kenshin. Don't you?"  
  
The rurouni had a stumped look which bested any of Sanosuke's. "Well, I..."  
  
Kaoru chuckled lightly as she knelt near Kenshin and picked up the sleeve of the green gi in his lap, turning it over in her hands to inspect the stitching. "Of course. She had to love her parents an awful lot to hold on to all that pain for so long. So, I know they were very good to her, and that she will pass that on to her own child."  
  
Kaoru's eyes widened as she felt a hand on top of her own. Lavender orbs were searching hers with sudden lightness of spirit, an expression she'd never really seen in Kenshin before. "Kaoru-dono, sometimes you say things quite wise beyond your years, that you do." Yes. Just like Tomoe. He had loved her deeply, and held on to the sadness of her passing for far too long. He could still love her, still cherish that time, and the gift she gave, but without becoming stuck in the quicksand of sadness. But, it was time to pass on the love that Tomoe had given him.  
  
"Mou, Kenshin, you have the weirdest look in your face..."  
  
As Kaoru felt the hand atop hers curl around her fingers and clasp tightly, her breath caught in her throat. "Kaoru-dono..." His voice turned remarkably soft, quivering and trembling like a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon. "Sessha wishes to make a visit to Kyoto next spring, to Tomoe's grave. Sessha would very much like his former wife to meet his new wife. So, what I am asking is, will you go with me, Kaoru-dono, to Kyoto?"  
  
"Kenshin are you...asking...me to...?"  
  
"Yes. In the spring."  
  
And then Himura Kenshin was soundly glomped by the tightest Kamiya Kaoru hug -ever-.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Well, that was all fine and dandy for the residents of the dojo. But, back at the Saitou house, things weren't looking quite as good.  
  
"Oh -shit-!" Chou's voice called, "Boss! Come quick. It's 'Kita-san. He's fallen off the fuckin' roof!"  
  
Saitou leapt off the engawa and made his way around the side of the house before Tokio could even take three steps. There, laying sprawled in the sparse grass of winter, two barely conscious forms moaned as the full impact of their collision began to set into their nerves. Clay roof tiles, many of which were now broken, arranged themselves haphazardly across the scene.   
  
Eiji rolled onto his side, groaning as the few tiles on top of him fell into the dirt. The boy's head shot up a second later as his eyes focused, "Unnnnnnnn. O...ki...ta...san?"  
  
Saitou bent near the other figure, the one which was not moving of its own accord. Okita's head lay planted face down in the dirt. One of his arms remained unseen underneath his body, the other jutted to his side, grasping a torn section of Eiji's gi.  
  
Eiji coughed slightly, trying desperately to recover from becoming winded. As Tokio finally arrived, her hands flew to her neck at the sight of her ruined backyard and the two people recovering from what appeared to be a disaster. "Eiji-chan! Are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah, but, I don't think Okita-san... He saved me. The bundle of roof tiles slipped, I guess. But, Okita-san jumped off the roof and pushed me out of the way before..."  
  
Saitou grabbed his oldest friend by his shoulders and carefully turned the small man over. Okita's face, covered in dirt, reacted with an uncharacteristic grimace of agony. Deep brown eyes opened, but refused to focus on anything in particular, and instead twice rolled upwards, as if Okita's body were trying to let the man slip into unconsciousness. Finally, Okita bit down on the inside of his cheek and let out a ragged hiss.  
  
"Okita? Okita? Can you hear me?"   
  
The stern tenor of her husband's deep voice drew Tokio's attention away from Eiji. "Is he...?"  
  
Okita's lips moved slightly, and Saitou bent forward in an attempt to catch what his friend was saying.  
  
"Hn. No, Okita, I do not." Saitou replied, pulling himself back up, but seeming mildly relieved.   
  
"What did he say, Hajime?"  
  
"He said, 'I don't suppose you have any sake, Saitou-kun, because I would really appreciate some right about now.' Damn idiot has to make a joke of every damn thing."  
  
Okita winced and spoke again, this time mildly more audible. "My arm. I am fairly certain...it is broken."  
  
Saitou snorted as his face became guardedly unreadable. The older man's eyes closed for a second as his jaw locked, "Goddamnit, Okita."  
  
"Hai, hai," the other replied, acknowledging what his friend was thinking. Okita's eyes darted towards the side where Tokio attempted to look down at him over her jutting stomach. "Tokio-san, I may be in need of a doctor."  
  
"Yes, of course. Eiji?"  
  
Eiji rolled his eyes and looked up to the roof where Chou had been silently watching the proceedings. "Oi! Chou! Get a doctor or something."  
  
"Yeah," Chou replied, jumping off the roof without much trouble, the tails of his long coat flapping against the air. As he shoved his hands in the pockets and headed towards the front gate he murmured, "Fuckin' moron. Now I gotta do the roof all by m'self. And Naoya's gonna yell at me for not savin' his stupid ass. Shit. Goddamnit. Fuckity fuck fuck..."  
  
The string of expletives lasted all the way to the doctor's house.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The streets of Tokyo's market district stood remarkably empty that morning. Perhaps the growing chill in the air had made the residents of the city more likely to stay home, reveling in the warmth of blankets and stoves. Perhaps it was an anomaly, a mere coincidence caused by the patterns of buying and selling. Or perhaps even the normal, everyday residents of Japan could sense the danger that lurked on the very roads they so often took for granted.  
  
Shigekazu peered over the edge of the warehouse roof, watching the street below with a mix of boredom and even more intense boredom. His free hand held a short metal spike which he used to pick his rotted teeth, or what remained of them. Maybe he could get some new teeth. Money could buy anything these days, really. That was the premise by which Shigekazu lived his life. You get money. You spend money. You get more money. A life cycle of acquisition and loss. He had quite a few theories on the matter, and he tended to spout them vociferously, much to his compatriots' dismay, whenever drunk.  
  
Which was often.  
  
"Where -is- everyone today?" Shigekazu whined to a pigeon that had alighted on the roof. "I'm about to fucking give up and go home. My luck is off today. I can feel it."  
  
The pigeon cooed and fluttered its wings disinterestedly in response. Coincidentally, the pigeon had a theory on life, too. It was pretty sure that it had been a bodhisattva in a previous incarnation. But, since it was a pigeon, it couldn't relay any of its knowledge, wisdom, or teachings to the wayward vessels of mankind. This made the pigeon irritable. Very irritable.  
  
"Well, lookee here." The man perched on the roof removed the implement from his teeth and pushed himself forward to get a better view. On the street below, an old woman walked along slowly, using a long stick to assist her journey. "She's got nice clothes. Bet she's loaded, eh?"  
  
The pigeon pecked at the roof and wondered what the next life held.  
  
Shigekazu grunted, and with one swift movement, propelled himself over the side. He landed in front of the woman easily, holding out his spike towards her neck as he made his best effort to seem threatening.  
  
The old woman stood still. Very still. And this unnerved Shigekazu. Usually women this old would faint, or at the very least scream. But this one just raised a grey-haired eyebrow and sighed in annoyance.   
  
"Yes? May I help you?"  
  
"I'll take your bag there, lady. And any jewelry you have, too."  
  
"So ka?" She slumped against her staff and looked at the man before her, "Are times so desperate that you must rob old women?"  
  
"Huh?" Shigekazu leaned forward, pressing the spike against the collar of the woman's kimono. "I got a knife, lady, so hurry up. Gimme your bag."  
  
"Hmmmm?" The woman furrowed her brow, causing the corner of her eye to become dense with lines and wrinkles. "I must recommend against that. It would not be the best idea."  
  
"What? You're fucking batty." Shigekazu swiped at the woman's hand in an attempt to pull the bag away. "Oh, I get it, you're senile. Well, its none of my business. But, I'll drink a toast to your health with the money I steal from you, I promise."  
  
Shigekazu finally succeeded in ripping the bag from the woman's hand. With a laugh of victory, he turned and sped down the street, leaving the old lady standing in the middle of the road. He ducked into the first alley he came across, slowing down to a less exhausting pace.  
  
"What a stupid old bitch," Shigekazu muttered, plopping down cross-legged in the dirt. "Well, whatever. Lets see if she had anything of value."  
  
The bandit pulled open the bag, thrusting his greedy hand inside to pull out object after object. "Hn. A comb. A hair scarf. Map of Tokyo. OW! Fuck. Sewing needles. And...say...what's this, now?"  
  
Shigekazu pulled out the last item in the bag, a black lacquered box no bigger than his fist. The outside of the container had been intricately carved, depicting tiny bees in perpetual flight. "This'll fetch a pretty price," the bandit said with a chuckle, prying open the lid.  
  
"Fucking...shit," Shigekazu exclaimed in awe.   
  
For inside, on a tiny pillow, lay a gold nugget as large as his thumb.   
  
"Is this for fucking real? Can't be real." The bandit pulled out his prize and held it up to the sky, watching the light reflect off the polished stone. One second later, he popped it in his mouth, biting the metal with all of his might to validate its worth. As he pulled it back out, he found that his teeth marks were, indeed, visible.  
  
"I can't believe this. Gold. That bitch was carrying gold."  
  
A fluttering noise in the alleyway caused Shigekazu to press himself more tightly against the shadowed wall. He curled his fist around the gold nugget as his breathing became shallow. Slowly, the man looked up and found a bored looking pigeon pecking fruitlessly at the ground.   
  
"Heh. Gave me a scare there, birdie."  
  
"Keroo," the pigeon replied.   
  
Shigekazu laughed and pushed himself up, deciding that he had better cash in his earnings as quickly as possible. That old bitch may have been senile, but she was just the type to go running to the damn police.  
  
The bandit got about halfway to a standing position when he suddenly felt...very...very...ill. His stomach contorted in immense pain, forcing Shigekazu onto his knees. The world around him began to throb, pressing in against his senses as he coughed against his will.  
  
"What the..."  
  
As Shigekazu fell to the ground, his body beginning to spasm with the rapid onslaught of death, the gold nugget fell from his dirty fingers and went rolling down the alleyway. There, a previously hidden figure bent and picked it up before striding nonchalantly towards the dying man.  
  
The last thing that Shigekazu would ever see would be an old woman with a staff standing over him, clicking her tongue lightly as she sighed.  
  
"I told you it was a bad idea. But, greed deafens ears to good advice, doesn't it? Well. You deserve what you have received. That nugget was coated with just about the most painful poison my clan makes. Go now, and meet the denizens of Hell. Tell them that Okashira Iyoko of the Hachinisasareru sent you."  
  
As Iyoko picked up her bag and placed the items back inside, the pigeon waddled across the alley and hopped onto the dead man's face.  
  
Once there, it proceeded to relieve itself, indicating that it, too, had an opinion about the matter.  
  
"Come, come, Yei-chan," Iyoko murmured, heading back down the alley. "We must find Meiko."  
  
The pigeon flapped its wings, taking brief flight only to land on the old woman's shoulder.   
  
"This is why I hate cities, Yei-chan."  
  
"Keroo," the pigeon replied, heartily agreeing.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Oh, Souji, you gave us such a scare," Tokio whispered, carefully curling Okita's uninjured hand around a cup of hot tea. His other arm, now in a sling, hung uselessly in front of his chest.  
  
"I'm sorry, Tokio," Okita said, smiling widely, painlessly, like an opium smoker. He sipped his tea carefully before adding, "I did not mean to worry you."  
  
"Well, at least Eiji-chan is alright." Tokio pulled the blanket she'd had Eiji bring outside around Okita's shoulders. "Your arm. Is it in terrible pain, Souji-kun?"  
  
"Yes. Dreadful." The fact, however, did not seem to dislodge the smile from his face.  
  
"Won't you take something for the pain? I could go get..."  
  
"No," Okita interrupted, his voice suddenly shockingly firm. Putting his cup down, he placed his hand on top of Tokio's. "You've been up and down too much today already. I've had worse pain, Tokio, I can assure you. But if something were to happen to you or your child because of my injury, that would be a hurt I could not bear. Besides, I want...I want to feel this pain, this wound. It is important."  
  
The weight of these words startled Tokio into silence. How like her husband he sounded, just now. 'Oh Souji,' Tokio thought, 'Just when I think I know you, you prove otherwise. You always let us believe that we are taking care of you, when, truly, you are the one who watches over us all. What is it, in your soul, that makes you want this pain? I wish I knew what goes through your mind, my friend. I wish I knew.'  
  
Across the yard, Saitou Hajime leaned against the fence, puffing annoyedly on a cigarette as he watched his wife tend to their injured friend on the engawa. Beside him, Eiji took up a similar position, though, being a bit too young to smoke, he busied himself instead by scribbling in the dirt with a long stick.  
  
"Fujita-san?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"So, um, what did Okita-san -really- say to you? Because I know he didn't ask about sake."  
  
Saitou looked down at the little boy by his side, slightly amazed that the kid had deduced the lie. Raising the cigarette to his lips, Saitou took a quick puff before replying, "He asked if I thought we'd be going into battle anytime soon."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He used to ask that during the war, when he was ill." Saitou closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Okita any longer. 'Though, at that time,' Saitou added mentally, 'He was seeking the opposite answer.'  
  
Eiji shifted his weight. Adults could be so confusing. There weren't any battles around here, at least none that he knew of. "Man, that guy can be weird. Look at him over there. He just got wounded, but he's smiling like he just won a free trip to Yokohama."  
  
"Aa. He's happy."  
  
"But, why?" Eiji asked, exasperated.  
  
Saitou tossed his cigarette to the ground and watched the embers eat away at the remainder of paper and tobacco. Life was so short, dissolving time like a burning cigarette, one intoxicating breath after another.   
  
"Because his arm is fractured in five places. His sword arm. He'll never fight again. Not as the swordsman he once was."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
One Month Later:  
  
Saitou walked home through the first flurried snowflakes of the January afternoon. He found himself in a particularly odd mood. Eight months since the beginning of the Shishio Makoto affair, and the government still held. Japan had -not- fallen to absolute chaos. And while the Meiji government and its allies still proved as corrupt as ever, they weren't currently doing anything besides the most minimal acts of petty politicking. Nothing, in particular, which required his immediate attention.  
  
Yukishiro Enishi's organization, too, had been disbanded. It left a power vacuum in the underworld which appeared to have various contenders squabbling amongst themselves for the scraps. Well, in-fighting in the criminal element, to Saitou's mind, brought only the good result of more dead criminals. But eventually, he knew, someone would seize the power. When that time came, Saitou Hajime would definitely be ready.  
  
Though Japan, for the moment, was settled enough to not require his unrelenting vigilance, Saitou's current mental state remained disturbed. The re-frozen rains from earlier in the day crackled beneath his feet as Saitou warmed his lungs with a cigarette, and his mind with the thought of what awaited him at the end of his journey. Tokio.  
  
The mere thought made him pick up his pace.  
  
And yet, there was something irritating about the way she invaded his thoughts now. Before, he'd always been able to place his wife and homelife to the back of his mind when working. Not forgotten, certainly. But, he had found it a useless distraction to spend his time in daydreams and fantasy. These things were for frivolous men, men who needed nothing more in their lives than a paycheck and a warm female body in their beds. Even the romantics were dubious sorts, prone to flights of fancy and unable to remain constant and virtuous within their hearts.  
  
Tokio, herself, Saitou knew, would agree to his ways. There was no need to deviate from his path, no need to split his focus by thinking constantly of her. She would not leave, nor would she somehow be affected by his mere thought of her. So, to this end, he placed his wife aside, and did his duty by the whole of the nation.   
  
She would be waiting, always, for when he returned home. And she would require neither his smile, nor his reassurance of her worth. They both knew what they meant to one another. There was no need to fuss over the subject.  
  
But now, now the distraction assaulted him constantly. He'd find himself staring at a random piece of paperwork, just staring, having long since lost his place. Or, he'd realize that Chou had been babbling at him for quite a while, and have no idea what the sword collector had been saying.   
  
Tokio. Such a long time now. They had been first married when she was barely sixteen. Was it yesterday or an aeon ago? He couldn't tell. But, there was a time when no one waited for him. A time when no one cared what sort of man he was, had been, or would be. He'd never been lonely, even while alone, never yearned for company in his quest. But now that he had it, Saitou wasn't quite certain he could go back to the way things were before.  
  
Sixteen. And now she was, what, nearly twenty-five? Would she make it to see a quarter of a century? And if she didn't, he'd have no one to blame but himself. He'd have killed her, just as certainly as Himura Battousai killed the Yukishiro girl all those years ago. Certainly, the wound would have taken almost a decade to claim her life, but it was his fault nonetheless.  
  
That would be a guilt that would not be able to be avoided. Even the strongest man could not survive killing the woman he loved with his mind fully in tact.   
  
After that, what would there be? That question surrounded itself in a fugue of darkness. How could he mourn her and do injustice to her life through sadness? No. That would not even be possible. So, after Tokio, all that remained was a bleak road, stretching forever onward, with no one following behind, and no one waiting at the end.  
  
No. He understood now. He fought for Japan, but unless Tokio stood by his side, the concept only presented itself in abstract. For, what was Japan if you had no one to tie you to it? A lone wolf could gnash his teeth at the world, powerful and unchecked. But, it was the leader of the wolf pack who struck the most fear into the hearts of men. He had more to protect than just his own life and ideals. He had to protect the pack.   
  
One month. It could be possible that, in one month's time, there would no longer be a pack to protect.  
  
How could he not want to be with her now?  
  
These thoughts swam through the brain of the man known to his enemies as the Wolf of Mibu as he approached the gate of his house. He hesitated, only for a moment, before entering.  
  
Every time now, any day now, he knew that he might arrive home to someone waiting on his porch. Waiting to give him the bad news.  
  
But, thankfully, today the porch stood empty.  
  
Tokio, herself, he knew, would not greet him at the door. She remained confined mostly to her bed, either sitting with the assistance of a pile of blankets at her back, or laying down fully. Standing caused the weight within her womb to press far too much on her old injury, making walking painful and difficult. Well, at least she didn't complain -too- much anymore about her loss of mobility. And she had little to worry about, with Naoya caring for the shop. Eiji had proven incredibly helpful in assisting her during the day. Okita, too, visited whenever possible, though his arm remained in a sling, and he apparently had some sort of major project in the works which kept him unceasingly busy.  
  
"Fujita-san," Eiji said, appearing from around the side of the house, carrying a bundle of wood. "You're back fairly early, ne?"  
  
"Aa. There's a holiday."  
  
"Oh." Eiji looked a bit confused, but shrugged. Seemed to be a lot more holidays around these parts than back in his village. Not that he much minded, really. "Anyway, I'm going to try to make tea. Not that stuff Auntie Tokio makes, but real country tea like we had back in my village."  
  
The boy was unceasingly industrious. Saitou supposed that free time in Shingetsu hadn't existed to any meaningful extent. If he wasn't making kites, or playing with the other children, he was doing some sort of house chore, or running errands for Tokio. Well, it was probably lighter work than plowing and tending fields.  
  
Saitou stepped onto the engawa and removed his shoes. "And Tokio?"  
  
"She's in your room. She slept some today. When she woke up, she wasn't looking too good, but then she got a letter and ate some dumplings that Naoya brought by, and seems to be better now."  
  
"Hn."  
  
Saitou stepped inside his house, followed by Eiji who wandered off to the kitchen to work on whatever small town concoction he had in mind. After putting away his things, Saitou made his way to the back bedroom.  
  
Tokio proved to be a most amusing sight. She lay upright against her stack of blankets, sleeping with her head tilted against her shoulder, babbling nonsensically to herself in inaudible tones. Her hands sat on either side of her body, one holding a folded piece of paper, the other still clutching chopsticks, as if she had fallen asleep while still trying to finish off the last two dumplings still residing in the nearby lacquered bowl. At her feet, the absurdly fat form of their cat, Snowflake, lay curled, purring happily.  
  
Saitou chuckled, and leaned down to remove the chopsticks and the bowl, placing them aside. Returning, he knelt beside his wife, and gently attempted to re-position her head to a less painful angle.  
  
But, apparently, the movement jarred his wife somehow, for as he turned her head, he heard Tokio distinctly whisper, "Through power of will, voice, and spirit, reclaim ye, oh my daughter, the Akumu of the wayward."  
  
This, of course, mildly startled Saitou. Tokio had always talked in her sleep, but she'd never actually -said- anything cognizant before. He leaned forward to see if he could catch any more, going so far as to practically place his ear at her lips. In doing so, he splayed his hand lightly on her round stomach, absently checking to make certain that, well, everything was as it should be.  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
Saitou pulled his head backwards to find his wife blinking her eyes awake. She peered at him, trying to deduce what was going on without having to ask.   
  
"You were talking in your sleep."  
  
Tokio brought her hand up to set it on top of the strong one laying against her stomach. "You say I always do."  
  
"Aa, but this time I heard you."  
  
"Oh? Did I say anything of note?"  
  
"No," Saitou lied, peering into his wife's eyes with unwavering confidence, "Just nonsense." He stroked her stomach gently, and despite the bizarre words which had just come from Tokio's dream world, felt suddenly more at ease. "Eiji said you did not look well earlier."  
  
Tokio nodded, leaning further back into the blankets, "Yes. But it passed. Something I ate, I suspect."  
  
"Aa. Perhaps." This seemed likely. Tokio had been eating more meat than she had in years, craving it constantly. However, her body did not seem to agree with it, being unused to processing such foods as rapidly as she had been intaking them.   
  
Tokio looked around the room, noting the level of light. "You're home early. Nothing is wrong, I hope?"  
  
'Ah. Then she doesn't remember. She never does.' Saitou leaned against the blankets, turning his head to press his still-cold nose against Tokio's neck. "Yes, Tokio. The police station burned down, killing everyone inside. I only escaped using Chou's charred corpse as a shield."  
  
A faint smile appeared on Tokio's face. Despite her amusement, however, she whispered, "I do so hope our child inherits my sense of humor, rather than yours."  
  
"That would prove quite a tragedy for the bairn."  
  
No response came to this provocation. Instead, Tokio's fingers ran down the length of her husband's, examining the cool flesh covering strong knuckles and the hardness of well kempt fingernails. "I've had a letter from Kozue and Kume. She's had another baby. A daughter."  
  
"Of course she has." Saitou rolled his eyes. Catching Tokio's slender fingers between his own, he continued, "I'll read it later. Right now, you need to bathe before it gets much colder."  
  
"Hajime, are you implying that I smell bad?"  
  
"While that isn't the point, I will have you know that you do, indeed, smell like the chicken in those dumplings."  
  
"Good," Tokio whispered pulling her hand away from her midsection, "Then I know I am safe from your prying lips."  
  
Tokio placed her hands against the ground in an attempt to push herself up, wincing slightly at the effort. Her husband's hands quickly found themselves at her wrists, removing them from the floor.   
  
"No. Stay."  
  
"But...the bath..."  
  
Saitou pulled at the blankets covering Tokio, bringing them up around her shoulders. "Just stay. There is ice on the ground. As clumsy as you are now, you're certain to slip. Besides, how exactly do you suppose to stoke the fire?"  
  
"Eiji can.."  
  
"The boy has other things to do than look after you all the time." Saitou stood, giving his wife a hard glare, daring her to contradict further. Seeing that she would not, he turned and headed out the door.  
  
He returned minutes later, having already devised his plan. As Tokio watched him, silently but concerned, Saitou pulled one of the blankets from behind Tokio's head and put it atop the ones already covering her. Leaning close to her face, he murmured, "Put your hands around my neck, Tokio."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Don't be daft, woman. It's so I can pick you up."  
  
Now, it was Tokio's turn to glare. "No, Hajime, just help me stand. I can walk."  
  
Saitou rocked back onto his haunches and regarded his wife with a prohibitively cool expression, "Don't do this, Tokio. I'm not in the mood to tend wounds from you slipping on the ice, nor do any of us have time to care for you if the chill makes you sick. Besides, your life is not the only one at stake here."  
  
Tokio could only stare at her hands. Eventually, she nodded, and despite the shame in her lidded eyes, Tokio raised her arms obediently, wrapping them around her husband's sturdy neck. He slid his hand beneath her, and lifted her without much effort, wrapping the blankets more soundly around her body as he made his way to the shoji.  
  
"This is humiliating," Tokio whispered, closing her eyes so as not to have to look at her husband's face.  
  
Saitou pushed the shoji open with his foot and made his way through the house as he replied, "I've carried you before, Tokio. Numerous times. You didn't complain then."  
  
"That was different, Hajime. You either couldn't wake me or..."   
  
Saitou smirked, knowing exactly what Tokio was thinking about. So, maybe he did have a penchant for occasionally throwing his wife over his shoulder and dragging her to the bedroom. What of it?  
  
Tokio, for her part, pressed her face against her husband's shoulder as they emerged into the bitter December afternoon, warming herself not only by his body heat, but with the familiar tangy smell of smoke. The heavy blankets rustled as they moved, slipping from Tokio's feet to reveal naked toes and ankles.  
  
As for Saitou, he felt strangely weak in the knees, a feeling which he seemed only able to combat by pulling Tokio's body even closer. He'd always been a man with a good sense of instinct. It allowed him to predict his enemies' moves, to know when danger lurked nearby, to sense potential among the rank and file under his command. But today, instinct gripped him like never before, igniting some latent feral nature, the burning need to protect one's mate.  
  
And he hated it.  
  
Right now, he knew, he'd do possibly anything in defense of Tokio. Before, of course, he would have never willingly allowed her to come to harm. But now...  
  
He was not in control of their destinies. And Saitou Hajime was not a man who relished a lack of control.  
  
Once inside the bath, Saitou set Tokio delicately on a small wooden bench against the wall. Steam permeated the air, creating a dewy haze that stuck to everything that moved through it. As Saitou knelt to help her disentangle herself from the blankets, Tokio thought of another time he'd carried her to the bathhouse.  
  
She'd been drunk on that day. And she'd spit at him and cursed.   
  
'I've never been a very good wife to him, have I? But, he is such an independent man. The little which I do is so meaningless. Mend his clothes, keep his house, try to keep him eating. Even keeping my eye on the goings on in the market place, I know, is just something he allows me to do to placate me. If I could...just...bear this child. If I could just become a mother to his children, then maybe I will have done something special, for once, for him.'  
  
"Tokio, lean forward, so I can help you remove your yukata."  
  
"No, Hajime, I..." But before she finished her statement, she bit her bottom lip, forcing herself not to argue. That look in his eyes, it wasn't anger, or annoyance, just genuine care. It was an expression, she knew, that would be given to no one else.  
  
After that, Saitou met no resistance, and soon after had his wife undressed. He took a brief moment to regard the amazing changes in her body. The swell of her stomach, lined at its base with an angry sword scar. Her breasts which had grown large in preparation for motherhood. Even her face, now glistening from the steam, had gone from lean to full. This woman, his wife, glowed and radiated life, but at the same time, he knew, fought every moment against immense pain.   
  
Saitou combated the very brief and irrational desire to kneel before her and beg forgiveness for some unknown crime.  
  
No, he knew exactly -which- crime.  
  
'This is becoming ridiculous. If it doesn't stop soon... I need control. This is no way for a man's mind to be. I must focus. But, what can I do? How can I not know what to do? I always know. I must know..'  
  
Saitou lifted his wife once again, and re-positioned her to where he could assist her in soaping and rinsing her body with a bucket of water. For the most part, Tokio remained silent, allowing her husband to run his able fingers over the most generally unseen sections of her skin. Her head bobbed forward, and her shoulders relaxed, as the warmth of the water and the caress of strong hands eased the day's pains. Finally, Tokio whispered, "Hajime, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I've never been a good wife. That I always end up a burden to you."  
  
She had expected some sort of crude retort, a firm voice telling her to stop feeling sorry for herself, or a mild insult which would, strangely, leave her feeling better afterward. But, this time, her husband only said, "No, Tokio. You're wrong. It has never been a burden to have you as my wife."  
  
Tokio felt arms wrap around her and raise her once again, this time lowering her into the heated bath. As the deliciously warm water engulfed her frame, Tokio sighed and positioned herself, the buoyancy allowing her a greater breadth of movement. Her muscles began to relax almost instantly. Tokio leaned back and watched the ceiling, listening to her husband move around the bathhouse.   
  
"Too hot, Tokio?"  
  
"No it's..." Tokio's eyes shot wide open as her breath caught. "Ohhh."  
  
Saitou spun around, the towel he had been using to dry his hands falling to the floor. "What?"  
  
"No, no, nothing just..." Tokio reached into the water to press her hand against her stomach, "It seems I am not the only one enjoying the bath."  
  
Saitou narrowed his eyes as Tokio motioned him over. Taking his newly dried hand, she pulled it into the water and positioned it over the spot.  
  
The unborn child proceeded to kick.  
  
"Of course. He's a fighter," Saitou declared.   
  
"Like his father."  
  
"No, like his mother."  
  
Releasing her husband's hand, Tokio smiled gently, chiding her husband, "Might be a girl, Hajime. What would you do then?"  
  
"Aa. Perhaps. Doesn't matter. A brat is a brat."  
  
Tokio chuckled silently as her husband remained kneeling by the tub. He watched the mirth play across her cheeks, shaking her gently, creating ripples in the water. Happiness came so much easier to her these days. Removing his hand from the water, Saitou ran his wet fingers along the edge of her face, for the first time in his life, dumbfounded.  
  
"Happy anniversary, Hajime."  
  
Well.  
  
She remembered, after all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sanosuke and Yahiko sat on the edge of the engawa, both shoveling food into their mouths, and both looking at each other in complete surprise. Behind them, Megumi watched in complete disgust, deciding that she would definitely -not- help them out if they got stomachaches.  
  
"Are you sure Jou-chan made these cakes?" Sanosuke asked for the third time.  
  
"I told you already, yeah, she made them this morning."  
  
Sanosuke picked another one out of the basket and held it on his palm, examining it with a critical eye. "That can't be right. That just...can't be right." Stuffing the entire thing into his mouth, he chewed only briefly before stating, "But, they're so good."  
  
"I know! That's what I've been trying to tell you. Something is just freakin' weird around here. Like, yesterday, Kaoru went to the market. But, the strange part is, she didn't leave -any- chores for me to do. She just said, 'Have a good day today, Yahiko', and left. And then Kenshin was doing laundry, and he started -humming-. HUMMING, Sano, HUMMING."  
  
"It's surely," Sano replied, taking another cake, "An omen. Sign of the apocalypse or some shit."  
  
Megumi, who had been watching Yahiko and Sano stuff food into their mouths, rolled her eyes. 'That idiot is so superstitious and gullible. He'd probably believe me if I told him that chewing on fishbones causes impotence.' A second later, Megumi got a devious look in her eye as she began to formulate her plan.  
  
In the yard, Kaoru was practicing the more advanced kata of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. Kenshin, for once, was not -washing- the laundry. He was, in fact, taking it down from the clothesline, folding it, and putting it into a basket.   
  
When he wasn't sneaking peaks at Kaoru, of course.  
  
They had decided to become married in the spring, but had not yet told their friends. No need to endure an entire season of jibes and wisecracks. Afterwards, they would travel to Kyoto and visit Tomoe's grave. Kaoru had wanted to visit the grave beforehand, but after some discussion, they both thought it best to be married in Tokyo, a city symbolizing Kenshin's new life, rather than the city which held so many bad memories.  
  
'What a fine day,' Kenshin thought to himself, 'Remarkably warm for this late into winter. This afternoon, it might be nice to ask Kaoru-dono if she'd like to walk to the river and watch the paper boat races that the children hold, or perhaps...."  
  
Kenshin's train of thought was interrupted by the sudden realization of someone's rapid approach. 'Not a warrior's ki, but...definite distress.' As Kenshin moved away from the laundry, his hand already on the hilt of the sakabatou, the front gate flew open, and a wild-eyed, sweat-drenched Mishima Eiji appeared.  
  
"Eiji-chan?" Kaoru asked, stopping in the midst of one of her moves. "Are you alright?"  
  
The boy seemed about ready to collapse, leaning against the door frame as he gasped giant mouthfuls of air. His gaze darted from one figure to another until he finally found the composure to speak. "Megumi-sensei! Himura-san! All of you. You have to come right away."  
  
"What is it, Eiji?"   
  
"Gensai-sensei says...it's Auntie Tokio...her baby..." Eiji ran up and grabbed the sleeve of Kenshin's gi, tugging the man in an attempt to pull him towards the street, "And Fujita-san is...there's...no time to explain. Please...I don't know how much longer...please...we have to hurry..."  
  
The urgency in Eiji's voice motivated everyone to head for the front gate. Within moments, the entire party was heading down the streets of Tokyo towards Taito street.  
  
They arrived minutes later at the normal-looking house, plaintively marked "Fujita". The bizarreness of the fact that Saitou lived in a regular neighborhood, in a simple middle-class house mildly stunned Sanosuke, who stood staring at the kanji of the assumed last name while Eiji slid open the gate.  
  
The six people who filed into the yard that morning were privy to a most frightening sight. Four uniformed police officers were holding back a struggling Saitou Hajime near the westernmost fence. The man's hair, usually slicked back, had become wild during the battle, falling around his determined face like sharp blades of black. Blood, seemingly not his own, tainted the man's gloves and left a smudge on his left cheek. And he was, quite literally, howling.  
  
In front of him, Sawagejou Chou stood, two swords drawn, next to a rather ragged looking Okita Souji. The shorter of the pair was holding his sword in his left hand, his other arm being in a sling. Both men were trying to speak to Saitou, Chou in rather terse terms, and Okita far more soothingly.   
  
"Saitou-kun, please be calm. They will do their best..."  
  
"Boss, shit, come on, you're going to hurt someone. Fuck, you've already injured Shinzui.."  
  
Eiji tugged at the Megumi's sleeve. "Megumi-sensei, you have to come inside. Naoya and Gensai-sensei are already..."  
  
As the boy and the fox-doctor started across the yard, a horrible, ear-splitting sound broke through the yard, causing everyone to instantly stop in their tracks.  
  
It was a scream, a bloodcurdling, soul-rending, scream of pain.  
  
"Tokio!" Saitou yelled, a renewed vigor, and their momentary distraction, allowing him to throw off the officers.   
  
As Saitou drew his sword, Eiji's eyes widened. "Megumi-sensei, hurry. Hurry. Run."  
  
Megumi did as commanded, Saitou's gaze never leaving her as she sped up the steps of the engawa. "Don't you -dare-, woman!"  
  
His charge towards Megumi was blocked by Okita, who parried with obvious difficulty.  
  
As Megumi disappeared into the house, Okita tried reason once again, pushing his sword backwards against Saitou's in an attempt to remain standing. His feet, planted slightly apart, created ruts in the ground as Saitou slowly pushed him backwards. "Please, Saitou-kun. This isn't right. You have to trust in the doctors now..."  
  
But the effect of Okita's words was immediately nullified by another scream, this one choked with the singular word: "Hajime!"  
  
Kaoru put her fingers to her lips in shock, as she looked from Saitou to Kenshin. "That...can't be...Tokio-san? Can it?"  
  
Chou, who had been standing closest to the newcomers, nodded. "Aa. It's her alright. And every time she screams, he gets more fuckin' violent."  
  
The pressure of Saitou's sword against his proved too much for Okita. The small man slipped backwards, rolling away from the battle expertly, or what would have been expertly, if he were able to use both arms.   
  
"Don't get in my way again, Okita," Saitou hissed.  
  
Okita momentarily stunned, it was Chou's turn to step in and attempt to keep the peace.   
  
"Look, boss, ain't no reason to be actin' like a maniac. I know ya don't like doctors. Fuck, I'm not too fond of 'em m'self..."  
  
Through grit teeth, Saitou stated, "They're killing her."  
  
"Boss, I don't think that..."   
  
Chou was never given a chance to finish his statement. In a flurry of movement, Saitou exacted a move which left the sword collector short two katanas. Both went flying into the air, one landing in the grass, the other coming to a stop only inches from Okita's head as it plunged, tip down, into the ground.  
  
Chou, of course, wasn't phased, and quickly drew another sword.  
  
"Himura-san," Eiji begged, tugging on the man's green gi, "Please. Please help."  
  
"What?" Sanosuke looked at the boy, incredulous at the request. "This has nothing to do with us. You can't expect Kenshin to get involved just because that psycho cop can't control himself."  
  
"Yeah, why should Kenshin have to put himself in danger?" Yahiko scrunched up his face as he put his fisted hands on his hips.  
  
Kaoru looked from her friends to the two men facing off in the yard, and then to the house. "Because if he gets inside, he may hurt them. Gensai-sensei, Megumi-san, and Naoya-san. And, even if he doesn't, he may try to keep them from helping Tokio-san."  
  
"Well, why can't they just fucking arrest him?" Sano picked up the nearest police officer by his collar and shook the man senseless. "Why are you so goddamn useless? This is so fucking typical of Meiji lapdogs. Put that asshole in jail, already."  
  
Kenshin, who had been quietly observing the events, finally spoke. "Sano, please put the officer down. Sessha will help, that I will. We can't let Saitou get inside the house."  
  
As another of Chou's swords went flying, Kenshin drew the sakabatou, trying desperately to push any doubts from his mind. Certainly, he had become more adept in the Hiten Misturugi Ryu during his recent battles. On the other hand, the strength in his body was, as Megumi-dono had pointed out, slipping daily. Of course, he didn't currently want to hurt Saitou, and certainly not to kill him, just to hold him off long enough... But, was the man before him even the Saitou Hajime he knew? No. And that meant this battle would be terribly unpredictable.  
  
Kenshin needed a plan. Unfortunately, unlike Saitou, he was not really much for plans. Deep introspection and insights into the souls of others, yes. Strategy, no.  
  
"I don't get this," Sano mumbled, kicking his foot in the dirt. "This is stupid. If the tables were turned, and it were -Kenshin- who was putting people in danger, Saitou wouldn't just stop him, he'd probably kill him."  
  
Eiji gave Sano what could only be termed a 'death glare'. "You talk too much, you know that? You think you know an awful lot about Fujita-san, just because you've maybe fought him a few times. But, you don't really know anything about him. He and Auntie Tokio took me into their home. Except maybe my parents, they've been kinder to me than any people have ever been. But, that's not something you would see, is it? That's not something you would know, because you are so focused on hating them just because they think different from you."  
  
Sanosuke shrugged with a mighty harrumph and thrust his hands into his pockets. "I know he's an insufferable bastard, there's no debating that."  
  
"Yeah? Well, look in the mirror, moron."  
  
"Please, you two, this isn't the time." Kaoru placed herself between Eiji and Sanosuke, effectively ending the argument. "We need to be thinking about Kenshin."  
  
The man in question, Himura Kenshin, had stepped into the yard. Chou, now out of swords for the moment, fell back to help Okita up and pull him out of the way. Kenshin regarded his opponent, probing the searing metal ki, one so very different from the usual crisp and cutting spirit of the man he had come to know through so many battles.  
  
Unfortunately, he couldn't tell -exactly- how badly Saitou Hajime had lost it. Did the man know where he was? What he was doing? And would he, with this strange passionate fury on his side, be more dangerous, or less?  
  
"Battousai."  
  
"Saitou."  
  
"Out of my way. This does not concern you."  
  
"No."  
  
"I will enter my house. I do not mind stepping over your dead body to do so."  
  
Reason with him. That was Kenshin's first instinct. Saitou Hajime was, if nothing else, a rational man. But, if Okita, his own best friend, had been unable to convince him to become calm, it seemed unlikely that his direst enemy would be able to do so.  
  
Kenshin's eyes flickered with a sudden idea. It was crazy, but then, Saitou appeared to currently be insane, so it might work. "Fine. Then let this be our final fight. I formally challenge you, Saitou Hajime, Former Captain of the Third Squad of the Shinsengumi, to an honorable duel before the witnesses gathered here. Do you accept?"  
  
"I haven't time for these games, Battousai. Remove yourself from my path, and subsequently, from my yard." However, Saitou's gaze darted briefly towards Okita, who was leaning on Chou for support as the two made their way towards the others gathered near the gate.  
  
"No. I stand by my challenge, that I do. Either accept, or live your life in dishonor for refusing my request."  
  
"Idiot," Saitou mumbled, drawing himself up to his full height. "I do not have to accept invitations to private duels. It is part of the Shinsengumi code. Besides, the man I want to fight, and will fight, is not currently present today. That is the man from whom I will accept a request for a duel."  
  
Kenshin fingered the hilt of the sakabatou delicately as he formed his response. "I suppose you may be right, Saitou. The man I have fought, and to whom I issued that challenge, is not here today either. Perhaps you should..."  
  
This may have proven a useful tactic, indeed, if a howling scream of agony from inside the house hadn't cut off Kenshin's words.   
  
The grip on Saitou's katana tightened as his shoulders became painfully rigid. Though his blood-smeared face continued to exhibit little to no emotion, Kenshin could feel Saitou's ki become molten.   
  
"Battousai. MOVE!"   
  
"You just said there is no one here by that name, Saitou. Have you changed your mind?"  
  
At that moment, something in Saitou's mind clicked. He -had- always called the man before him, 'Battousai', hadn't he? And why not? He still contained an element of that man. Saitou had seen it when they dueled in the Kamiya dojo. So, what was the sense in waiting for that man to fully appear?   
  
Unlike Shinomori, he didn't care about Himura's strength. The man could be as weak as a kitten in his current form, as long as he could stand and hold a sword, it didn't matter. Saitou had certainly cut down weaker men. Besides, the rurouni wasn't an innocent, he wasn't even -real-, no more real than Fujita Goro. The danger within had never diminished.  
  
And, if that were true, then he was a threat to Japan. Not just to Japan, but to everything -in- Japan that meant something to Saitou. His subordinates. His friends. And most of all, his family. Tokio. And the child who, right now, was tearing his wife apart.  
  
"For once, you are right, Battousai. If an apple is known to be rotten on the inside, one does not spare it simply because the skin shines a brilliant and unmarred red. I will slice away that illusory coating, until all that is left is the blackened and worm-infested core you try so desperately to hide. I will strike you down. If my child and my wife should survive this ordeal, I would be remiss to allow them to live in a world that contains you as well."   
  
Saitou pulled his left foot back behind his right, and squared his left shoulder as he leveled his katana at Kenshin. Gatotsu stance. A move both men knew well, one through practice, and one through having it used on him so many times.  
  
"I hope Himura-san knows what he is doing." Eiji whispered, stepping next to Chou and Okita.  
  
Okita grimaced slightly as he attempted to re-position his wounded arm within its sling. "Don't worry, Eiji-chan." But, in fact, Okita looked -quite- worried, himself. Mentally, he beseeched every spirit he could, a silent prayer that his best friend wouldn't do something he'd regret. But, would he regret it? 'I certainly wouldn't,' Okita thought, 'I would do exactly the same thing. Every time I hear poor Tokio scream, my heart breaks. I can barely keep -myself- from running into that house. As long as Himura keeps Saitou-kun distracted, perhaps the doctors will have a chance.'  
  
Kenshin, seeing the other man crouch into his most famous stance, knew he couldn't parry with a battoujutsu. Speed and strength were of no consequence against it. Saitou, while both strong and fast, relied exclusively on neither of these. His trump card was strategy. Cleverness. Kenshin would have to outthink the Wolf of Mibu. He pulled the sakabatou up, holding it at a simple forward angle, straight in front of him.  
  
"What's he doing? That's..."  
  
Kaoru finished Yahiko's statement, "The first stance of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. He must realize that Saitou knows the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu stances far too well..."   
  
As another scream cut through the air, Saitou lunged forward, leading off with his right foot. His furious charge at Kenshin caused deep canyons to form in the ground behind him. But, as Saitou approached, the instant before his shoulder would have snapped to complete the deadly gatotsu, Kenshin jumped backwards. It was a risky move, one that was predicated on the hope that Saitou had already committed his strength to the final thrust. If he had not, and had deduced Kenshin's strategy, he would merely correct his move by taking an extra step.  
  
But, Kenshin's planning was rewarded as he saw Saitou's left shoulder come forward. From the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu stance, it was easy to parry as Saitou instinctually moved into the gatotsu's rightward slash.   
  
Metal hit metal, and the two men ended up face to face, their swords crossed.   
  
Teeth grit, and eyes aglow with fury from being duped, Saitou hissed, "Hn. Interesting move, Battousai. Stupid, but interesting. You realize that won't work more than once?"  
  
"Aa," was Kenshin's only reply. Unfortunately, he hadn't been in possession of enough time to think much ahead of avoiding the gatotsu. With both hands committed to keeping Saitou's katana from flying at his shoulder, there wasn't much to do but wait for the man's next move.  
  
He didn't have to wait long. In a move that defied logic, Saitou turned his hand. The repositioning of his katana caused the dull edge of the sakabatou to slide down the length of the unnamed sword. As Kenshin, due to gravity, rocked forward, Saitou leaned his head back briefly and then brought it forward ferociously, headbutting the other man hard enough to send him flying backwards.  
  
Kenshin landed in a crouched position, the sakabatou still in front of him. One tiny line of blood dripped down his face from the outside of his left eyebrow, where the force of Saitou's hit had caused a break in the delicate skin. Wiping at this with the back of his free hand, Kenshin slowly pulled himself back up to a standing position.   
  
In an instant, the two men were flying at each other again, Saitou first, and Kenshin only a second behind. Blades collided with renewed vigor. Saitou struck first at Kenshin's right hip, only to find himself parried by a downward angled sakabatou. With a howl, Saitou pushed the sakabatou over the rurouni's head, but then withdrew his katana to spin quickly on his left foot to try for Kenshin's shoulder.   
  
Again, parried.  
  
Saitou pulled up his foot and pushed it into Kenshin's stomach, not so much to kick the other man, but to push him away. Kenshin, expecting this, turned at the waist, causing Saitou's foot to slip.   
  
Saitou, awkwardly correcting for this misstep, was at a momentary disadvantage, or so Kenshin thought. The rurouni brought his left hand downwards quickly, grabbing ahold of the sakabatou's sheath in an attempt to flip it upwards to strike Saitou on the chin.   
  
But, Saitou had other plans. With only one hand now parrying the blow at his shoulder, Kenshin's grip on the sakabatou was lessened. And, as close as the two men were to each other, it was easy for Saitou to grab ahold of Kenshin's wrist with -his- off hand. He used the move he had so often used on Tokio, forcing her to drop his cigarettes, or even her knives, a joint lock between the thumb and forefinger. As the sakabatou fell from Kenshin's grasp, Saitou swung downwards with his katana to meet the iron sheath of the sakabatou.  
  
And then something happened that stunned everyone, even Saitou.  
  
He sheared the iron sheath in half.  
  
'That's fucking impossible,' thought Sanosuke.  
  
'That's fucking incredible,' thought Chou.  
  
It was a fluke. Something that neither man could have re-created in a thousand years of trying. Perhaps the iron had become infinitesimally cracked through years of battle. Perhaps Saitou had hit it at -exactly- the correct angle. In either case, having not expected for his blow to move -through- the sheath, Saitou was left doubled at the waist, his knees bent, looking at ground and at the hollow iron tube which now rested there.  
  
Kenshin, while startled, was far more concerned about the fact that he was now disarmed. He rolled quickly to the side, picking up the prone sakabatou.  
  
Both men turned at the same time. Kenshin, still on the ground, angled the sakabatou upwards. Saitou, crouching, angled his katana downwards.   
  
They were left with Saitou's arm extended, the tip of his katana at Kenshin's forehead. And Kenshin, his arm bent, had the sakabatou at Saitou's gut.  
  
"Oh no," Kaoru pressed her face into Sanosuke's shoulder. "Oh, Kenshin, no..."  
  
It was true. Kenshin had no move but to thrust forward, slicing the other man through the stomach. But, if he did, Saitou would surely fall forward, killing Kenshin instantly as the katana sliced through his brain.   
  
"You have no choice, Battousai. Do what you are meant to do." Although Saitou's untamed hair fell into his face, Kenshin could see the feral clarity that shone in his eyes. Saitou would not doubt this, he did not fear this. Even in his insane fury, he held fast to the code of the samurai. This death, to him, would be honorable, justified, and without regret. He believed it necessary. It was his promise, to Japan, to the Shinsengumi, to the people in his life.   
  
Saitou could not change what he had decided any more than Kenshin could break his promise to not kill.  
  
"My name, Saitou, is Himura Kenshin. And you know, very well, that I will not kill you."  
  
Saitou pressed forward, allowing the sakabatou at his gut to tear through the fabric of his black undershirt. At the same time, the point of his katana pressed more firmly into Kenshin's temple, creating a line of blood that dripped into the rurouni's hairline. "I have always told Tokio that a suicide without reason is devoid of sanity. Thankfully, mine will be quite meaningful."  
  
Kenshin tried to dig his elbow into the dirt, hoping to pull the sakabatou farther from Saitou's stomach. "And who, exactly, will explain that to Tokio-san?"  
  
"She'll understand." With those words, Saitou reared back slightly, ready to impale himself on the other man's blade in order to destroy his longtime nemesis. No one in the entire yard even breathed, even blinked, as what seemed like minutes passed in the span of only a butterfly's heartbeat.  
  
"BOTH OF YOU STOP IT, THIS INSTANT!"  
  
The voice, high but gritty, came from the porch. Both men, without moving their heads, moved their gaze in the direction of the engawa.  
  
Someone was always interrupting their duel these days.  
  
This time, it was Meshibe Naoya, who stood, looking royally pissed (and definitely not -peeved-). "What in the hell do you think you are doing, Fujita-san? This is absolutely no sort of example to set for your new son."  
  
Son?  
  
A son!  
  
Saitou, apparently forgetting Himura almost instantly, stood up to his full height. His sword arm hung limply at his side while he stared at the rat-girl, attempting to process what she had just said.  
  
A son? A boy? But...  
  
The katana slipped from Saitou's hand as he raced up the steps and caught Naoya by her shoulders. "Tokio, Naoya. What about Tokio?"  
  
Naoya, temporarily stunned by the crushing grip on her shoulders, didn't say anything for a moment. It was just enough of a pause for Saitou to know that his worst fears had come to pass. Tokio was gone. Just gone. The wife he'd never sought, but who had though time become his companion, his shadow, his lover, had died in agonizing pain. And he hadn't been there. To tell her how sorry he was...to hold her hand...to tell her how glad he was, how proud, to have been married to such a woman. Alone. He'd promised she'd never be alone...and now...  
  
What was there now? Nothing. Not sadness. Not anger. Just an emptiness, like a chasm, that stretched on for eternity. A bottomless pit into which a man is thrown, blind and alone, condemned to never again be able to make sense of the world. Tokio. Was. Just. Gone.  
  
"Feh, Fujita-san, don't look at me like that. Tokio-san is going to be alright." Naoya said, wiggling her shoulders from his grasp, "And that fucking hurts, by the way. Geez, you're such a brute."  
  
"Then," Saitou turned his back to everyone in the yard, keeping them from seeing the look of relief that washed over his face, "Tokio is fine?"  
  
"Yes. The birth was very, very difficult. But, the doctors say that, as long as she rests for a few weeks, she'll heal just fine. She's sleeping now, but you can go in and see her, if you want."  
  
"Aa."   
  
As he stepped towards the engawa, he heard another voice from the yard. "Saitou!"  
  
Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Saitou saw Kenshin standing next to the fallen katana. The small rurouni reached into his green gi and removed a small wad of white cloth. This he tossed towards Saitou, who caught it mid-air. "Your face. You shouldn't let Tokio-san see it all bloody."  
  
Saitou raised one eyebrow as he caught the cloth. His head bent, almost imperceptibly, in a nod of recognition, a miniature display of respect. "Next time, Himura. Don't think this is at an end. Our duel is yet to be finished."  
  
"Of course," Kenshin replied, "Next time, I won't have to go easy on you, just because your wife is in labor, that I won't."  
  
Saitou responded to this with a snort and slid open the shoji, disappearing into his house in search of his wife and his child.  
  
"Aw fuck," Sanosuke moaned, "Now he's got a son."  
  
"Scary," Yahiko agreed, "Very, very scary."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou found himself in desperate need of a cigarette. In fact, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to smoke so badly. Of course he couldn't, no, he wouldn't smoke here. No, not here.   
  
By the dimness of the room, he could tell that the sun had already begun to set outside. How long he had been kneeling here, he found himself uncertain. Minutes? Hours? Unknown. Some time ago, however, Gensai-sensei had left to retrieve his granddaughters from a neighbor's house. The fox doctor, too, had left the room, but had said she was going to stay for a few hours until they could be certain that Tokio's condition was as stable as it seemed.  
  
Tokio. She lay before him on the futon, sweat grown cold sticking to her face, her hair a mess, her skin sallow from the afternoon's ordeal. She looked, to Saitou's mind, angelic.  
  
And, at her side, their child, wrapped in blankets, glowing pink with life, slept just as soundly.   
  
A deep sleeper, just like his mother.  
  
So small. Hajime wasn't certain that children were supposed to -be- that small, were they? The smallest he could remember was Kozue and Kume's daughter Fujiko, and Fujiko had been much larger. But, then, Kume was much more healthy and robust than Tokio.  
  
The baby boy's ocean blue eyes opened slightly, and he looked around the room in silence. He moved his arms a bit as his mouth formed the small "O" of a sleepy yawn which ended in a tiny squeak.  
  
A boy. A son. -His- son. His son was -looking- at him. Definitely.   
  
And, after a moment, Saitou realized that it made him more proud than any battle he'd ever fought, than any enemy he'd ever defeated. No wonder men would fight and die to protect their families. He knew he would do the same.  
  
Something soft and warm curled around Saitou's fingers. He looked up to find Tokio awake, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips. She squeezed his hand as best she could.  
  
And then, she said, quite audibly:  
  
"Hajime."  
  
Had he been injured? He'd felt this way before, when injured. Like vines had grown from his stomach to his throat, and had suddenly sprouted thorns. Like he was being torn apart from the inside by a thousand tiny spikes. But that, that had been the realization of death. This, he knew, was the realization of life.  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
Her voice. He'd never heard her voice before. So elegant. So smooth and sonorous. Like it had never even been gone.  
  
If ever there were a time when Saitou Hajime considered weeping, it was at this moment.  
  
Then, in a perfect imitation of her husband, Tokio said, "Hajime, you look like shit."  
  
Well, there went -that- moment.  
  
"Must you curse in front of our son?"  
  
Tokio's smile widened considerably as she attempted to lift her head to see the child at her side. But, Saitou was already there, pressing her back down gently with his free hand. "No, Kitty, you must try not to move too much. You will heal, but only with rest."  
  
"I wish to see him, Hajime."  
  
"Aa, alright." Saitou pried his hand from Tokio's and reached forward to lift the bundle at her side, taking care to support the babe's head. He was so light, lighter even than Snowflake. Saitou crooked his arm to lean the child against it. Was this right? Yes. It seemed correct.   
  
Tokio couldn't help but laugh at how intently her husband was looking at the child in his arms, his brows furrowed with the same intense concentration he used to plan battles and manipulate criminals.   
  
As Saitou brushed his hand down the child's bare arm, he found himself surprised as a tiny fist opened and caught his finger, squeezing it tightly. Such soft warmth, wrapped around one strong finger.  
  
"He's got a good grip. Left handed, too."  
  
"Yes, Hajime," Tokio said, trying not to giggle, "But, lets do wait to put a sword in his hands until he can walk, hm?"  
  
Saitou turned his head to scowl lightly at his wife, but returned immediately to looking at his son. He was captivating. Saitou Hajime wasn't a man to often harp on aesthetics or beauty, but his son was, in fact, quite beautiful.  
  
"I like that," Tokio said quietly, watching her husband's amazement. "Father and son."  
  
"He needs a name, Tokio."  
  
"Shall I think of one?"  
  
"Hn," Saitou turned to place the child in his mother's waiting arms, "Like you named the horse and the cat? I don't think so, Tokio."  
  
As Tokio rearranged the child in her arms, letting his head rest against her heart, she said, "Then what would you like to name him, Hajime?"  
  
"Tsutomu. Fujita Tsutomu. It is a good, strong name."  
  
"Yes," Tokio agreed, "I like that. And you, little kochou?"   
  
The child replied by sticking its thumb in its mouth and sucking quietly.  
  
"Then, I believe, it is agreed."  
  
Saitou watched his wife and their child in silence for a few moments, and then bent down to kiss Tokio lightly on the forehead. His fingers caressed her face, and even this gentle touch seemed to cause Tokio's eyes to flutter closed, the soothing presence pulling her once again towards sleep.  
  
"You did a good job today, Kitty. I'm proud of you."  
  
"Are you...happy...Hajime?"  
  
"Aa," he replied, pulling the blankets up to cover the child and its mother, "You rest and get well. Don't give me a reason to become angry. I'd hate to have to strike you in your condition."  
  
"Yes, Hajime," Tokio replied obediently, her eyes closing. As she fell back asleep, the smile slid from her face. Her lips began to move, once again forming words no ears would hear. Saitou stood and made his way to the door.  
  
Looking back on mother and child, Saitou let out an amused grunt.   
  
He'd never strike her in anger. Not in a million years.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In the courtyard of the Fujita house on Taito street, an impromptu party had broken out in light of the evening's apparent truce. Sake had mysteriously appeared, and while everyone blamed Sano and Chou, it was, in fact, Okita who had produced the alcoholic beverages. He'd retrieved it from his house sometime during the interim, feeling fairly certain that the others would enjoy it far more than he had.   
  
Everyone was delighted to find out that both mother and child had made it through the ordeal, even Sanosuke, who finally grunted, "Well, I guess that's not so bad," and proceeded to drink to the child's health. Several times. Chou matched every gulp with a devious grin, not to be outdone by 'that stupid lightweight rooster-head'.  
  
Yahiko and Eiji stood off to the side, with Yahiko proudly displaying his kata for Eiji, and Eiji proudly displaying his well-tended winter garden for Yahiko. Eventually, both boys ended up on the engawa, cramming food into their mouths as fast as Naoya and Kaoru could make it.  
  
"I thought you said she was a bad cook, Yahiko."  
  
"She -was-. I guess she finally figured out that you can't depend on the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu to cook rice."  
  
Megumi spent her time between the engawa and the back rooms, occasionally leaving the party to either check on Tokio and Tsutomu, or check to make sure that Naoya and Kaoru weren't burning down the kitchen.  
  
Saitou Hajime looked...well, like Saitou Hajime. He spent most of the time leaning against the fence, one foot bent at the knee, watching everyone move around his yard with a menacing scowl. However, he did have one hand slipped rather nonchalantly into his pocket, and he had, apparently, forsaken cigarettes for the afternoon in favor of some pungent smelling foreign cigars. And, just occasionally, when no one was looking his direction, he -might- just have chuckled at Sano and Chou's eternal arguing.  
  
It was sometime later that night, long after the stars had appeared, that Okita Souji walked into the back yard to find Himura Kenshin sitting on the woodpile, looking up at the sky.   
  
"Himura-san, mind if I join you?"  
  
Kenshin shook his head, and moved over slightly to allow Okita to take a seat. Okita did so, and produced a small flask of sake and two small bowls. He poured one for himself, and handed to other to the rurouni. "The stars, hm? One must wonder if they despise their fate. Once born, they can never be anything else, never change. It seems cruel that the cosmos never gives them any choice in the matter. At least, as men, we have the ability to control our own destinies."  
  
"Do you think so, Okita-san? I have never known if that is the truth, I have not. Perhaps it would be better to be as the stars. To be fixed into place, to follow forever a pre-designated path and purpose. Change often seems to bring such confusion, doubt, and regret, that it does."  
  
"No, Himura-san," Okita replied, taking a small sip of his sake, "It is a weak heart that brings confusion, doubt, and regret. Or, perhaps, it is a strong heart that lives through them."  
  
Kenshin smiled sadly as he, too, sipped his sake. "Are we so very changed, Okita-san?"  
  
"Who knows? I never feel that I am the same man, one day to the next. Every day is a struggle between who I should be, who I would like to be, and who I merely can be. It is one reason I have always liked Saitou-san. He is very like the stars, I think, unchanging, and therefore, never doubting or regretting who he is."  
  
Kenshin held out his bowl to allow Okita to pour more. "Do you regret what you did during the Bakumatsu, Okita-san?"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Kenshin closed his eyes as he withdraw his cup and cradled it in his lap. "Always."  
  
"No. I never do." Okita reached down to place the bottle of sake by his dangling feet. "Regret would mean I felt I should not have fought those men. It would deny not only what I did, but what they did as well. They fought hard, and with honor, as did I. I have to believe that they are proud to have fought with such strength and vigilance, and I must be proud to have fought them. That they should die, while I did not, is of little consequence to the truth of the matter. We were men who fought for our beliefs. How can I regret that?"  
  
"I see." Kenshin smirked a bit as he looked again at the stars, "I'm glad to have not known you during the Bakumatsu, Okita-san, that I am. I'm fairly certain that you could convince a man that killing his own mother was the right thing to do."  
  
Okita smiled as he brought a finger to his lips and tapped them several times in mock thought, "Let me see. I might have done that once or twice, yes. But, you know, it was always necessary, always for the good of the country. We Shinsengumi couldn't have random women hanging around, trying to feed us delicious stew, you know. I think it is in the code somewhere. Right between deserters committing seppuku, and fighting to the death if your Captain is mortally wounded. Yes, I remember quite plainly. No stew."  
  
Okita laughed at his own joke, while Kenshin just looked at him and blinked. They were -all- crazy. Tokio. Saitou. Okita, too.  
  
"Oh, come on, Himura-san, you should laugh more. I assure you, it is quite cleansing for the soul."  
  
Kenshin permitted himself a polite chuckle, and returned to drinking his sake, hoping that the bitter liquid would help fight the effects of the confusion of having such a intimate conversation with one of his former enemies.  
  
"Himura-san?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"I wanted to thank you, for today, for what you did." Okita turned to look at the other man, smiling quite genuinely. "I should have been the one. But, I...my fighting days are over. I apologize that you were drawn into it. I hope you will not hold it ill against Saitou-san. It may seem strange to you, but he loves Tokio-san dearly. He just couldn't stand to hear her in pain."  
  
Glancing from his reflection in the bowl of sake to the man sitting next to him, Kenshin said something that startled the ineffable Okita Souji.  
  
"And you? You love Tokio too, don't you, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita's head dipped forward, his short bangs shading his eyes. He took a deep breath, one which he released very slowly. "That question is highly inappropriate, Himura-san."  
  
"I see," Kenshin replied, pushing himself down off the stack of wood. "My apologies, Okita-san. I thank you for the sake, that I do."  
  
As Kenshin began to walk away, Okita's voice, low and trembling, stopped him. "I love them both, Himura-san, deeply and truly. But, he is my best friend. And she is his wife. It is not my place to ever come between them. I value their happiness, and I would be a cruel and greedy man to steal from that well. I know it is wrong of me to have such thoughts, to crave either of them in such a way, and I fight against my mind daily. That is why, I am hoping, that the end of Okita Souji the swordsman, means the beginning of a new sort of happiness. One that mends a broken heart."  
  
Kenshin looked back over his shoulder, smiling at the man who resembled him so perfectly in stature, if not in disposition. He smiled at Okita, nodding lightly as he said, "I wish you luck, Okita-san, that I do."  
  
Yes. Change. He'd undergone it too, with a flip of a sword and ten years of wandering. Yet, happiness proved illusive, and broken hearts, even with the best intentions, never healed as good as new. Still, one couldn't stop searching, one couldn't stop hoping, and one should -never- stop trying. With this in mind, Himura Kenshin wandered once again, but this time, only as far as the Fujita family kitchen.   
  
Once there, he half-drunkenly helped Kaoru clean the dishes.  
  
And he might have even kissed her.   
  
But, who is to say? There weren't any witnesses, because Naoya, at that moment, was in the side yard speaking to Chou.  
  
Actually, she was -yelling- at Chou.  
  
And she'd just stomped on his foot.  
  
"What's yer problem, rat-girl? All I said was that your cooking isn't as good as Tokio-san's."  
  
"You can be so dumb sometimes!" Naoya crossed her arms and scowled up at the tall man. "And you smell like sake. Ugh. Get away from me."  
  
"Yeah? You say 'get away', but your eyes are looking at me like 'kiss me'."  
  
"Are not."  
  
"Are so."  
  
"Brute."  
  
"Wench."  
  
"Foul-mouthed, foul-smelling, son-of-a-hairy-ape."  
  
"Dirty-minded, bad-tempered, skinny-legged-rat-girl. Marry me."  
  
Naoya, who was just about to slam her wooden geta down on Chou's foot once more, just looked up and blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"Yeah, you heard me. Lets get married. Yer sixteen now, and almost seventeen, right? I figure if I don't ask ya first, someone else will, and I'll have missed my chance."  
  
"You IDIOT!" Naoya declared, bringing her foot down so hard that Chou was pretty sure several of his toes might be broken. "You can't ask a girl to marry you that way. And you certainly can't ask her while you're drunk."  
  
Naoya spun around, fully prepared to storm off, but she found herself being spun -back- around by the gloved hand of Sawagejou Chou.   
  
"So, Naoya, are ya sayin' that if I ask ya proper, you might say yes?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"And if I kiss you proper, you might kiss me back?"  
  
"Well, I never said..."  
  
Chou didn't wait for the rest of the answer. He merely pulled Naoya forward by his grasp on her upper arm, and kissed her...extremely proper.   
  
And, as much as she wanted to be contrary, just for argument's sake, Naoya gave in and kissed him back.  
  
As they parted, both looking a bit dizzy, Naoya said, "Um...I...better go and...uh...check on the kitchen now."  
  
Grinning deviously, Chou squinted and replied, "Need help?"  
  
"No! I mean...no, thank you."  
  
Naoya giggled, well, it was more like a small hiccough, as she ran towards the engawa, looking back over her shoulder twice before she slipped inside the house.  
  
Chou leaned back against the fence, a stupid smile plastered across his face, a smile which fell the instant he realized he was being watched.  
  
"Not a word, roosterhead, not a goddamn word."  
  
Sanosuke appeared from behind a nearby tree, holding a jug of sake, his free arm wrapped around his stomach which hurt from laughing. "So...fucking...pathetic..."  
  
"Yeah? Well, at least I got a girl!"  
  
"A -rat- girl."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"Make me!"  
  
"Aw, fuck it. Pass the sake. I'm too drunk to pummel ya."  
  
"Loser."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
They continued to trade insults and share sake long into the night. No one knows who passed out first, but both men would contend, until the ends of their lives, that it was the other man who had the lower tolerance..  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Oh, they were very good girls today, Gensai-sensei. It is always a delight to have them over."  
  
The doctor smiled as Ayame and Suzume ran wildly from a back room and grabbed his hands, each chattering brightly about what they had done while he was away. As he thanked his neighbor once again for looking after his grand-daughters, she asked, "Oh, Gensai-sensei, what did Tokio-san have? A boy? Or a girl?"  
  
"A boy. A very healthy baby boy."  
  
"How wonderful. Well, see you again next time."  
  
The doctor nodded and headed towards the gate, Ayame and Suzume in tow.  
  
The woman slid the shoji closed, and turned to her left. After a brief walk, she opened another door and entered a small room where an immaculate tea had been set by the old woman who now sat silently, looking down at the table.  
  
"A boy?" Iyoko asked.   
  
"I'm afraid so, Okashira," Meiko replied, kneeling across the table to take her tea. "Are you displeased?"  
  
"No. Merely surprised."  
  
Meiko watched as Iyoko poured her own tea from a different container. Even across the table, Meiko could smell the caustic bitterness of the dark liquid in Iyoko's cup. Shiyuri tea. Made from the poisonous lily with heart-shaped leaves. Iyoko drank it daily, her resistance to the poison having been built up over years and years of careful intake.   
  
"Has Yei-chan returned?" Meiko asked.  
  
"No, but it doesn't matter. Keisuke will not accept our terms. She's already issued her challenge, and is too headstrong to retract it." Iyoko looked down at her aging reflection in the brown liquid, "She knows I am too old to fight her, as strong as she has become. And, with Nakenashi at her side, she's even more formidable."  
  
"That girl was a horrible mistake, Okashira."  
  
"Yes. It is as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions."  
  
"Well," Meiko said as she balanced her teacup on the end of one finger, deep in thought, "What now?"  
  
"We wait for Yei-chan. We continue negotiations. And, soon, very soon, I must see my granddaughter."  
  
"Do you really think Tokio knows the Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu?"  
  
"I can only hope, Meiko. I can only hope."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: What the hell is Okita up to? Ninjas, in Tokyo! Oh no. Is baby Tsutomu in danger? Will Chou ask Naoya "proper"? And, what -of- Hokkaido? This and more in the next exciting chapter of Hajime and Tokio.  
  
***Author Notes:   
  
Phew, that was a long chapter. Made even longer since I had to take a break for the holidays and car trouble.   
  
Updates may take a bit longer this month, due to the holidays and the need to do Christmas shopping. We're getting very close to the end, with, I believe only 2 or 3 chapters left, and then the epilogue.   
  
***FanArt Contest Notes:  
  
I've updated the Fan Artwork Contest page (see chapter "14" on the ff.net list for more info). There are new prizes for second and third place. Several people have told me that they wish to enter, but I have only truly had one entry so far.  
  
jbramx asked me what a few of the "original" characters look like, just for reference, so here is the rundown of what -I- think, but you can really change anything you want or feel necessary.  
  
Kozue: Kozue is pretty normal looking. He's taller than Tokio, but shorter than Saitou. He has dark, dark, dark brown hair in a western style (like Soujirou's maybe?), and brown eyes. He has a friendly look about him, and carries a bokken. In the story, I believe, he's wearing a dark blue gi and lighter blue hakama.  
  
Kume: Kume is slightly shorter than Kozue. Although she's somewhat 'silly', she dresses and looks quite proper. Kume tends to wear her hair in a ponytail, with a big floofy ribbon, like Kaoru. She prefers pastel colors for her kimono, and her frame can best be described as "sturdy enough for breedin'".  
  
Naoya: Several people wondered what Naoya looks like. Well, Naoya is shorter than Tokio, and her kimonos tend to be too big, since they are often Tokio's hand-me-downs. She has -horrible- fashion sense, and her obis are always -atrocious-. When she has her dithers, she wears bright, loud colors that hardly ever match. Her hair, in my mind, is styled a bit like Tsubame's.  
  
Katsu: There are pretty good descriptions of Katsu in the story. I remember that she likes to dress "simple but elegant", and wears a lot of rings. Of course, the cigarette and cigarrette holder are a must. :D  
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
Well, since this is a time period that I arbitrarily stuck into the middle of the manga, nothing important here, really.   
  
I did want to mention that all of the references to the "Shinsengumi Code" should be fairly correct, even if the translations are debatable. "No private fights" is one of them. If a Captain is mortally wounded, his men must fight to the death or until the enemy is defeated. And deserters and traitors -must- commit seppuku. I'll post my references for this information in the appendix.  
  
I also wanted to mention that, from what I understand, a traditional Japanese bath is -not- for cleansing oneself in. Washing is done -outside- the bath, which is why Saitou helps Tokio do this before he puts her in the water. I've lost my references on this, but hopefully I will find them again before the appendix.  
  
Some people may wonder why Okita is -still- wearing the sling. Well, by the end of the story, it has only been eight weeks since he broke his arm. I've never broken my arm, but I am pretty sure that six weeks is typical healing time (under current medical conditions) before a cast is removed, so I didn't think eight weeks would be too far fetched.  
  
A word on RK physics. Can a katana cut through iron? Or steel? I really have no idea. But, if Kenshin can cut ALL THE WAY through the zanbatou, I have no problem believing that Saitou can cut through the sakabatou's iron sheath.   
  
I did -slightly- fudge the order of events in the Seisouhen timeline. In it, Kaoru and Kenshin visit Tomoe's grave apparently -directly- after the Enishi battle. In this story, they wait until the next spring.  
  
Tsutomu is, in fact, the name of Saitou and Tokio's first born son.  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Hooboy!  
  
Saitou Hajime: I gave him a -lot- more emotion than usual in this chapter, seeing as how this one is mostly about him, and how he feels about Tokio at this point. Hopefully, most of what he thought isn't too kooky and comes across as justified. I mean, seriously. Your wife is pregnant, but is in extreme pain and may not survive childbirth because -you- stabbed her in the womb eight or nine years ago? And, on top of it all, you've never heard her voice in all those years until one day she's screaming at the top of her lungs in complete agony? I'm sorry, Saitou is -tough-, but he isn't -that- tough.   
  
Saitou Tokio: Some people may be wondering "How the hell did Tokio, all of a sudden, get her voice back?" Well, throughout the story, there are many instances where people see Tokio's scar and think "There is no way she could have survived that", or where Tokio heals in much less time than people think possible. Her voice could have been repaired for years, and she just never knew, because she'd never been in enough pain to try to scream like she did while giving birth. Tokio, really, in my mind, is a healer of sorts. She tries to fix people's lives, Eiji's and Naoya's, she tries to take care of Okita, or bandage Saitou (or even Kozue) when he is injured. I think she does this because she often does not know or understand how to fix her own life. Tokio is, in essence, very good at helping and understanding others and very -bad- at helping and understanding herself. Her husband understands her -far- better than she understands herself, which is one of the reasons she sticks with him.  
  
Okita Souji: Tsk, tsk, Souji. What a tangled web we weave. Ok, so finally, out with it. Yes, I think Souji does harbor a romantic sort of love for both Saitou and Tokio. But, I think he would do so with -anyone- he became close friends with, except maybe Katsu. Okita has never really had -love- in his life, and I think he is always looking for someone to complete him like his twin brother did. Yes, the thought is slightly incestual, but psychologically, you have to agree, that it would probably be true. Of course, his morals are far too strong for him to act on whatever he may be feeling. So, in essence, his crushes are harmless, if not tragic.  
  
Kenshin and Kaoru: Yes, the focus of the story is not this couple, but I thought I would add that bit, as it seemed mildly relevant to the story as a whole.  
  
Chou and Naoya: Ahahahahaah. Hahahaahahah. Hahaahahaha. AHAHAAHAHA. This is all purely for my own amusement, because it cracks me up.  
  
Eiji: I think Eiji is fairly astute. Kids really do catch on to more than adults fathom.   
  
Yei-chan: What? A pigeon can't have thoughts?   
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Glomp: I am pretty sure that "glomp" is not a word, but I used it anyway.  
  
Kochou: Butterfly  
  
Nakenashi: My dictionary says that this means "Something so small, it appears to be nothing".  
  
Shiyuri: This is, in fact, a poisonous lily sometimes used by ninja clans to kill their enemies. It usually only takes about 30-60 minutes to work.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Wowzers. More reviews for chapter 16 than I have had for any other chapter. It is going to take me an hour just to answer them all! I'm glad that so many people forgave me Tokio's temporary insanity, and, even though some people didn't agree with the melodrama, liked the other parts of the chapter OK.   
  
I want to -especially- thank several reviewers who pointed out a glaring weak spot in the story, one so glaring that I actually went back and did some editing, which I hardly ever do.  
  
And I must, most definitely, apologize to Cherry Delight for not getting to the "why Tokio talks in her sleep" part yet.  
  
So, without further adieu, a very hearty thank-you to all reviewers. You make my world spin, my nights glow, my cigarettes burn, my head swim. A very special thank you to: ExternalDarkness (Glad to have you along for the ride!), ione_girl (Yes! Come with us. Come to...THE DARK SIDE!), Dork in Training (Your reviews crack me up. I hope you had an excellent 2-day school week! And, yes, OKlahoma!), Cat, Avatar for the DCG (There, -now- Okita is -far- less than perfect. That little weasel! Chuckle. FFXI? Isn't that the game with the 300 page manual? Yikes!), Jared/Tofu (I don't think that Saitou will be the -hands on- sort of father. Just the kinda guy who tells his son to "be a MAN" a lot, possibly. On the other hand, it is also hard for me to see -Kenshin- as a father, so I guess that is OK.)Wolfgirl13 (Glad you have an account now. Fun stuff! Hope this chapter wasn't -too- dreary for you.), Lasaire (Thanks for reviewing!!!!), SilverNimbus (Hope you like this chapter as much as the last), Charmed-Anime (WAFFy enough for you, I hope??), kira (If I hit 300k words, just shoot me, ok?), LSR-7 (Congrats on your stripe in karate! I hope none of my writing angers you enough to come kung-fu my booty), JadeGoddess (You are -always- so ASTUTE!), kakashi-fan (Oh boy, everyone is going to so kick my ass for the Okita thing. Don't worry, he finds happiness in the end. Really. Maybe. Certainly. Ok, probably not. *wicked*), Misao Mei Mei (Maybe he should have killed her. I would have. What a bitch that Tokio can be!), Veleda (Really. If I were Kenshin, I would have grabbed Tokio by the collar and shook her, baby or not, and yelled 'WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, WOMAN?"), sawdust monster (Thanks for reviewing!!), fujifunmum (Thanks for reviewing. It always feels like someone famous is reading my story when I see reviews from you! P.S. Glad you liked the Blake poem!), bonessasan (Thanks for the translation. Hope you like this chapter better than the last! But, if you don't, I won't cry too much, promise.), bobo3 (I want a shuko, too. I wonder if you can get those on eBay, or in the words of another of my fics MeijiBay), Tessira Aleyn (Don't fall off your seat!)  
  
In addition:  
  
ChiisaiLammy: Thanks again for -all- your help. You don't know what it means to me. Well, you probably do, but I am going to pretend that you don't. Anyway, another chapter that focuses heavily on the Kenshingumi, but this is really the last one. There will be brief appearances in the future, but nothing really of too much consequence. So, anyway, what do you think? Was it -too- neatly resolved this time, once again? At least, this time, it was Kenshin's own choice to get involved. And, in essence, it wasn't -really- resolved, since Saitou still wants to finish their duel. Hm. I don't know.   
  
Pinetar: Ah, but Ienobu had a bone to pick with Saitou, so, at least in my story, old enemies come after the Wolf. But, true, they never do in the anime or manga. Maybe everyone just thinks he is dead?  
  
Shimizu Hitomi: Yeah, sorry for developing the ninja plotline so slowly. That should all be resolved in the next chapter, I hope. Sex talk from Saitou is SCARY!!! YES! Glad you liked the Shishio/Shishou thing. Kenshin, as you can see from this chapter, tried to at least explain to Yahiko and Kaoru about the poisoning but, as Kaoru says "Or whatever. I'm still not exactly sure what happened." I mean, I don't think Kenshin and Sanosuke are the best -explainers-, so Kaoru might still be a bit confused about what happened.  
  
tesuka- chan: Ah, but she -did- poison someone, in the very first chapter. Or rather, she let them poison themselves. But, I don't think Tokio is as mean as she used to be, nor does she have quite as depressing an outlook on the world anymore. I'm not a teacher, no. I am a 'Network Operator'. This means I sit in a big room with lots of computers and wait for something to break. Anyway, on your suggestion, I went back and changed some of the stuff regarding Tokio immediately joking around after being "rescued". I made her less 'jokey", I suppose. You were definitely right that it shouldn't have been that way! The poem I posted was one that I have loved since high school, really, even though I am not a huge fan of Blake.  
  
The Narrator: Yeah. I thought people might think that it was bizarre that Battousai supposedly killed Tokio's mother, but no one really commented on it, except for you. Impromptu party aside, I wouldn't exactly call the Saitous (et all) and the Kenshingumi friends. Tensely civil, perhaps, but friends......no. Except maybe Eiji, who gets along with Kenshin well, since Kenshin helped save Shingetsu, and Tokio is rather fond of Kaoru.  
  
Cherry Delight: Yar! Everyone wants a sex talk from Saitou, right? HMmmmmm. Maybe I should write a skit where Eiji just goes from one RK castmember to the next, trying to figure out where babies come from. And, I'm sorry to have tortured you with the Blake poem. :(  
  
conspirator: Yeah. I think he really -would- have blamed himself. Anyway, Tokio mended the sakabatou in the dojo's kitchen. I re-read the chapter and saw where that was confusing, so I did a bit of editing, and hopefully it is more clear now.  
  
_lone_wolf_236_: Mmm. Beef. Tasty. I do try to reply to all my review comments every time. Even though, currently, it taking about an hour and a half. But, what the heck, if people take the time to review, I should take the time to answer their questions! I'm glad you liked my characterization of Battousai. I didn't know if I even came close or not, since it felt, upon re-reading, a bit different from what I had read in other fanfics. (Not that those fanfics are bad or anything. Two people, I suppose, can characterize someone in COMPLETELY different ways, and still come up with awesome stories, don't you think?) Sorry, once again, for the mild focus on the Kenshingumi, but this is the last chapter they will be featured so heavily.  
  
jbramx2: You asked about Tokio's scarves. Well, I've always thought, Tokio being a practical yet elegant woman, she wears a scarf to match the occasion. When cooking, sewing, or gardening, she probably wears a short scarf, tucked in. For more elegant affairs, I've always wrote her as wearing a long, thin, scarf, often times with beaded fringe. Meiji fashion be damned, I like long scarves. But, really, either is fine with me. Anyway, I am glad you liked the scene with the paper on the water. I forgot to mention that just as Okita steps off the bridge on one side, Kenshin enters on the other, but oh well.  
  
caitlin: No Okita or Tokio death, but I have to wonder if you are angry, just the same. Anyway, I didn't really like Chou in the anime either, until he started hanging out with Saitou. Then, after that, he is okay by me! (And, I don't know, I think the way Tokio poisons people is pretty funny, too.)  
  
Rio Grande: I am -hoping- that Okita's secret project will be revealed in the next chapter, provided those pesky Hachinisasareru ninjas don't get in the way too much. Well, will we still have words regarding Okita after this chapter? Mmmmm. I hope you are still OK with the OOCness in this chapter. I do tend to write prolifically, I guess. But, it is so much fun for me that I hardly notice the time I spend on it (which is probably about 20-30 hours a week). Yes. I have a very boring life, and a very boring job. Anyway, glad you are still enjoying the story!  
  
vegetachanlover: There, I did some Kenshin-knocking-around, just for you. Ok, not really. I love the little guy, but I also like to kick him around a bit, too. He can take it. Yes, there will be more Hachinisasareru ninja goodness. The next chapter, hopefully, should finish up that plotline. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. It's a boy! Won't that be -fun-?  
  
darktenshi: Good GOD, aren't you right? Who would want a SEX TALK from Saitou? SCARY! I'll have to root around for the skit. Hopefully I still have it saved somewhere.  
  
Kenta D: Thanks for reviewing. I know not everyone gets around to reviewing all the time, and I don't hold it against anymore. I, myself, am a horrible reviewer. I'm glad you like the Saitou/Tokio exchanges. I always find them the hardest to write (except for fight scenes, which are nigh impossible), and I agonize over every detail, so I am glad they come out alright. Thanks again!  
  
aiteane: OK. So maybe he is a -little- gay. Or, not really gay, just starry-eyed. I don't know. I think I may not be in control anymore of what the characters in this story do or say. BTW, I used "fuckity" often, too. And Saitou actually calls her "Tokio-neko" several times throughout the story, but he more often calls her "Kitty" when he is being...well...sweet.  
  
Kaholione: Well, I am following the approximate timeline of Seisouhen, but I don't think I like it that Kenshin is so unhappy until the very end, either. So, I'm going to pretend that he's happier than depicted in Seisouhen, though some of the events in there will still take place. Not that it makes much difference, I suppose.   
  
Animyth: Mortally wounded? Oh no, I had -much- worse things planned for Okita. CACKLE. Glad you liked the chapter!  
  
Phew. That took 1 hour and 30 minutes. 


	19. Chapter 18: Okashira of the Damn Ninjas

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 18: Okashira ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Spring. Two Months Later.  
  
One thing about ninjas that few people understand is that each society, each clan, is different from the next. Although many of the clans were related to one another by divisions of long lineages that stemmed backwards through history for hundreds of years, each had its own diverse culture, its own goals, and definitely its own legends and beliefs.  
  
With the coming of the Bakumatsu, the ninja clans had, very briefly, experienced an upswing in membership and power. However, none of them existed as they did in their glory days. Most of the greatest had fallen into the abyss of history, disappearing from the land, but never from the minds of the people.  
  
Only a few remained in anything resembling their original form. Many had disbanded, had been slaughtered, or had morphed into something completely different. Some of the Koga ninja had left for abroad, hoping to try their luck in carrying on their traditions in other countries. The Iga ninja had been disbanded shortly after the dissolution of the Shogunate. The Fuma clan, always quite feared, had disappeared or gone so far underground that even the most powerful of remaining ninja clans had no idea where they were.  
  
And so, it was the small, tightly-knit clans which remained most loyal to their histories, and seemed most likely to survive into the rapidly approaching 20th century. Not only was a fierce connection to the clan necessary for this continuance, but a strong goal was needed, as well.  
  
It was with this in mind that Shinomori Aoshi stood, quite stoically, in the shadows of a pillar of the Tokyo train station. He wore not his typical fighting garb, his ninja uniform and ostentatious trenchcoat, but a simple gi and hakama set. He needed any help possible to not stick out like a sore thumb, being a tall and good looking man by nature.   
  
Of course, the person who -really- needed help in not drawing attention to herself was his clan's Okashira, who now sat on a nearby bench, chewing on the end of her braid absently.   
  
He knew she was brighter and stronger than she looked. In time, yes, in due time, she'd become more mature, and end up leading the Oniwabanshuu into the next century. But, then, they had decided to do it together. He was the link to the clan's past, and she was going to be the visionary who brought about their future.  
  
Really. She would be. If she could just stop fidgeting and sighing.  
  
He needed a future, a reason to look forward instead of backward. And for that reason, he'd never challenged Misao for her position as Okashira. Officially, the Oniwabanshuu was disbanded after the Bakumatsu. But it seemed that things which became shattered and scattered to the winds could, indeed, be reformed and repaired. Even sanity.  
  
And they had decided on a goal together, too. To protect Kyoto from all entities who wished to bring harm to their fair city. Never again would they allow the bloodshed seen during the Bakumatsu to touch their ancient city's streets. And with the trust they had gained from the people of Kyoto during the Shishio Makoto affair, they had a great start. It was a good goal. It was -her- goal, and so now it was -his- goal.   
  
She was, after all, the Okashira.  
  
"Waaaaaah, Aoshi-sama, I'm bored."  
  
Someday. Yes. Someday she'd be the greatest leader they'd ever had.  
  
A man appeared from one of the many hallways of the Tokyo train station, a plain man, hard to pick out from the throngs of people that traveled this way and that.  
  
Aoshi watched as the braid fell from Misao's lips and a certain determined and businesslike air spread across her form. The man made his way silently to the bench and sat beside Misao. He gave a slight nod to the shadows by the pillar, one which was not returned, and then turned his attention back to the teenager.  
  
"Okashira," the man began, "I've procured the required information."  
  
Misao's eyes darted left, then right, to make certain that no one besides Aoshi was paying attention.  
  
"Continue," she murmured, staring at hands that were now folded and motionless in her lap.  
  
"It seems that our source has been confirmed. The Okashira of the Hachinisasareru has indeed fled here, to Tokyo."  
  
"Is she just going to give up the clan that easily?"  
  
"I don't think so." The man pulled a small slip of paper from his gi and handed it to Misao. "You'd best read this. It is a transcription of a coded carrier pigeon message."  
  
Misao read over the document, her lips becoming momentarily pursed as she stole a glance at Aoshi.   
  
"Thank you, Yunichi-san. We'll take it from here." Misao folded the paper in her hand, "Will you be coming to visit us at the Aoiya soon?"  
  
Misao and the lesser ninja exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before the man politely excused himself and made his way out of the train station, nodding once again at the shadows by the pillar as he passed.  
  
Only a few moments later, Misao stood and journeyed out into the city by a completely different route than the one Yunichi had taken. Aoshi followed some yards behind, trying his hardest to keep up with the genki onmitsu who slid between the crowds with incredible ease due to her small size.  
  
They made their way through the city this way, neither one acknowledging the presence of the other. Strangely, it was the best way to travel. Together, they could be followed, but any enemies would hesitate to make themselves known. Alone, Misao seemed like an easy target, and would draw out any danger only to have the surprise attack by Aoshi take the assailant off guard.  
  
They met up again in the courtyard of the small temple where they had been staying these past two nights. Misao quickly flipped the paper to Aoshi and leaned against a tree, looking fatigued.  
  
She hadn't been sleeping well since this whole thing began. The threat to Kyoto stressed her more than she'd let on to almost anyone.   
  
Aoshi looked over the paper, his face as inscrutably unchanging as ever.  
  
"I guess this means we'll have to speak to Saitou," Misao murmured.  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Kami-sama, that guy is..."  
  
Aoshi slid the paper into his gi and closed his eyes briefly in thought. Generally, he tried not to attach derisive epithets to people. Meditation was -supposed- to help one become -above- that sort of thing. Besides, cursing really lowered one, it showed a sort of unintelligence that Shinomori Aoshi just wouldn't abide. But, in reality, he knew only one word to describe Saitou Hajime.  
  
"An asshole, Misao. A real asshole."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Many Years Ago.  
  
Okita Souji looked down at his hands. They were so sore, so raw now. Kenjutsu training was harder than he thought it was going to be.   
  
Of course, it was his own fault. He'd practiced his swings this afternoon far longer than he should have. Kondou-sensei had told him that he could stop for the day. But, had he listened? No. He had energy to spare. So, he'd swung his bokken until he'd literally rubbed the skin from his palms.   
  
He wanted to cry.  
  
Of course, he knew, no matter how much it hurt, it was nothing. Nothing compared to the pain of the boy laying on the bed just beyond the shoji in front of him. So, resolved not to let Seichii see him sad, Souji forced the edges of his lips to tilt upwards into a smile.  
  
No matter how bad his day had been, Seichii's had likely been ten times worse..  
  
Clutching his throbbing hands into fists, Souji slid open the door. "Sei-chan! I'm home!"   
  
Okita Seichii sat on the floor of the room they had shared as children, his frail body wrapped in blankets. He looked, well, exactly like Souji might look if he'd been placed in a hole in the ground without food, sunlight, or water for two weeks. Nonetheless, when his brother opened the door, Seichii's head shot up from the book in his lap and a wide grin appeared on his face. "Oh Souji! It's you! I thought it might be mother coming to make me take those horrid medicines again. I was going to pretend to be asleep."  
  
"That's awful, Seichii," Souji said, fighting against pain as he walked over to plop down in the pile of blankets next to his brother. "You should always take your medicines."  
  
"Bah. I feel fine today, so..." Seichii peered at his smiling brother. "What is it Souji? What's wrong?"  
  
Ah. Souji's smile slipped from his face, his bottom lip quivering as his hands ached, feeling like balls of fire at the ends of his arms . He should have known better than to try to fool his twin. Timidly, Souji outstretched his forearms and unclenched his fists. "I...um..."  
  
"Oh, Sou-chan. What happened? That looks awful." Seichii took his brother's upturned hands in his own, and brought them close to his face. "Why haven't you bandaged these yet? Oh, Sou, you lost track of time and then, when you remembered, you ran all the way over here, didn't you?"  
  
Souji only nodded, his gaze downcast. He really hadn't wanted Seichii to find out, for this brother to think that he'd completely forgotten to come visit today.   
  
He didn't want Seichii to think he didn't care. No, that was the last thing Souji wanted.  
  
Seichii slid his arms up his brother's and clenched his twin tightly around the neck. "Don't feel sad, Souji. I'm not angry. Come on, lets get those washed up and bandaged, okay?"  
  
Souji nodded into his brother's chest. Now twelve years of age, he was supposed to almost be a man. But, around Seichii, it never seemed to matter so much. Boy. Man. Kenjutsu student. None of it mattered. He was simply Souji, twin brother to Seichii, and he didn't have to pretend to be anything else.   
  
With some difficulty, Seichii stood and moved to the other side of the room. Once there, he procured bandages and a small wash basin and brought them to his brother. Sitting back down, slightly winded from carrying the water, Seichii took his brother's hands and dipped them into the bowl.  
  
Souji let out a sharp hiss and bit his lip. "Hurts."  
  
"It will feel better after, though." Seichii dried his twin's hands and set about the task of wrapping them in bandages. Already, Souji's hands were so much larger than his own, strong and thick from practice. "You know," Seichii said, chancing a smile, "It isn't often that I get to take care of you."  
  
"I know," Souji replied, wincing as the bandages wrapped his left palm, "I'm so sorry, Seichii."  
  
"Oh, feh. You don't always have to think of me, Sou-chan. You should take care of yourself more. But, you won't, will you? I know you, you never think of yourself, always of everyone else. Yet, that isn't always a good thing, Sou. Because, then the people closest to you will constantly be forced to worry about you."  
  
"I just...I didn't want you to think I had forgotten to come visit, Seichii."  
  
Seichii laughed, the sick boy's frail frame quaking so violently that he had to stop his task to stifle a cough, "I'm not going to disappear, Souji." Seichii outstretched his hand and put it next to Souji's yet unbandaged right palm. "See? We have the same life lines. Exactly the same. It's proof that, no matter where you go, I'll be somewhere nearby. Because our souls are like two tributaries of the same river, flowing through rapids and tides, through flood and drought, until we pour into the ocean."  
  
Souji chuckled as Seichii wrapped his remaining hand. "You got that out of a book, didn't you?"  
  
"Maybe." Tying off the bandage, Seichii said, "There. You know, when we start our school together, I want to teach all the children about medicine. Someday, I hope, we'll be able to soothe all the aches and ills of all the people in the world. Maybe one of my students will discover the cure for all diseases. Do you think it is possible, Souji?"  
  
"Sure, I think it is possible. You taught me how to read, didn't you? So, why not?" Souji lifted his bandaged hands and flexed them in front of his face. "That feels so much better!"  
  
"I told you it would."  
  
Souji grabbed the edge of one of the blankets and yanked it upwards with a snap. The fabric floated in the air for a moment before descending gently over the boys' heads, trapping them in a warm cocoon. Seichii grinned at his brother in the warm glow that penetrated the blanket.  
  
It was just them. No one else in the world. Nothing could harm them inside their tent. Ever.  
  
"Remember when we used to play samurais and ninjas?" Souji asked.  
  
"We made tents just like this."  
  
"Somehow we always both ended up committing seppuku."  
  
"I remember that. Say, Souji, do you think there are really still ninjas?"  
  
"Kondou-sensei says there are."  
  
"Do you think I will ever see one?"  
  
"Well, Seichii," Souji replied, pulling a section of the blanket over his mouth in the imitation of a ninja face mask, "I have bad news. I'm not really your twin. I'm an imposter sent from the Koga ninjas, come to steal bandages for my clan."   
  
Seichii sighed and shrugged, "Darn. And me without my katana."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji Era. Tokyo. Spring.  
  
Saitou Hajime rolled his eyes. Chou was babbling, babbling about Naoya for once, and not about swords. He'd been like this all day, and Saitou decided, it wasn't a positive change in the man from Kansai. Usually, he just sat in the corner, polishing his various katanas, acting, well, normal. Today, however, he just would -not- shut up.   
  
'I should have left him in jail to rot.'  
  
"So, whadya think Boss, think she'll say yes? I mean, d'ya think I should ask her, or what?"  
  
"Goddamnit, don't you have your own office?"  
  
Chou screwed up his face, looking mildly confused. "Huh? I was askin' 'bout Naoya."  
  
"Shut up about the rat-girl, already," Saitou replied, slamming his fist down on the desk. "I've got work to do. I don't have time to sit around listening to you groan indecisively about your pathetic life."  
  
"I was just wonderin' yer 'pinion and shit."  
  
"Fine. Marry her. Considering that you two are the most annoying people I have had the tragedy of encountering, it will be a perfect match. And, if I have any luck, you'll kill each other before the year is out."   
  
Saitou snarled and dove back into his work. Work. He relished the fact that his concentration, his focus, had returned. Unfortunately, quite a bit of paperwork had piled up during the last weeks of Tokio's pregnancy. Reports of surveillance. Reports of skirmishes. Weapon requisitions. Profiles of new recruits. What he really needed was a competent secretary. Not a useless sword collector who could barely read.  
  
Saitou's eyes narrowed only one second before a shaky voice from the antechamber declared, "Lieutenant Fujita, there are some people here to see you."  
  
"Go get rid of them, Chou. I'm busy."  
  
Chou stood from his spot in the corner and traveled to the door in three long strides. He opened it only a finger's width, peering into the next room for quite a few moments before scratching the back of his head and looking over his shoulder at his employer. "Don't think they'll go away, Boss. It's that weasel girl and some tall guy. And they've got Shinzui pinned against the wall."  
  
Saitou, perhaps already suspecting this, gathered the papers on his desk into a neat stack and laid his brush exactly parallel to the top of the pile. Useless. Everyone in his employ was completely useless. He'd find out who let armed ninjas into police headquarters, and have their jobs, if not their heads.  
  
"I strongly advise you to put down the officer and lay your weapons on the table beside the door, poste haste. My patience with such antics is notoriously short," Saitou grumbled, waving his hand swiftly at Chou in a motion of dismissal.   
  
A few seconds after the slumping sound of Shinzui hitting the floor, the two Oniwabanshuu ninjas entered the room. Saitou curtly indicated the two chairs in front of his desk with his free hand as his other withdrew a cigarette.   
  
The weasel girl. A damned nuisance, through and through. And Shinomori? Adept enough, with those kodachi of his, but sadly lacking in moral strength. Turned against his own people for selfish goals. How revolting. Still, they had all briefly fought for the same cause. So, they were due enough respect to not be instantly taken down and thrown into jail the moment they entered the room. But, really, not much more consideration than that.  
  
"Well?" Saitou said, lighting his cigarette, but keeping his eyes trained on the pair, "Are you going to tell me why I shouldn't put both of you behind bars for attacking an officer?"  
  
Misao made a concerted effort not to squirm in her seat. "Aren't you going to offer us tea, you rude..."  
  
"Misao." Aoshi interrupted. He didn't like the way this was beginning at all.  
  
"What do you think this is, weasel? Some sort of teahouse? You are not my guests, so state your business and then leave. I'm busy."  
  
"Fine," Misao replied with a huff, blowing her bangs out of her eyes with a quick breath. "We've come because of the Hachinisasareru."  
  
Saitou resisted the urge to lean forward, and, instead, took a drag on his cigarette. "Go on."  
  
"I take it you are acquainted with them, then?"  
  
Saitou exhaled a thin cloud of smoke in the direction of the teenager. "The police have files on many ninja clans, including your own."  
  
"No," Misao replied, ignoring the veiled threat, "I mean you are -intimately- acquainted with them, are you not?"  
  
Damn. She knew. And was Shinomori smirking? Saitou decided he liked the man better without any expression on his face. "I have fought them."  
  
"Yes. I bet you have. Look, Saitou, we don't like asking for your assistance any more than you like having us in Tokyo. But, we came here for a reason. Some months ago, there was a division in the Hachinisasareru clan. We aren't certain what caused it, but the effects are endangering many lives."  
  
"A division?"  
  
Misao nodded. She had his attention now. "Indeed. As you may know, the Hachinisasareru were allies of the Ishin Shishi during the Bakumatsu. Of course, after the fighting ended, the many promises that were made to their clan were forgotten. As we have seen before, the new government likes to deny that it ever had any involvement with what they afterwards decided were 'unsavory' elements. Fortunately, the Hachinisasareru had a level-headed Okashira, a woman named Iyoko. She decided that it would be best to continue to work towards their goals, with or without the support of the Meiji government. And they have, secretly, from the shadows, manipulated politics, trying hard to achieve what they so desperately want, rights and legal protections for women and children."  
  
Saitou turned to look out the window, ashing his cigarette with two stacatto taps, "Yare, yare, while I do not condone manipulation of politicians, I've heard of worse goals."  
  
"It isn't their goal that brings us here. You see, about a year ago, Iyoko's second in command, a woman by the name of Tokogoro Keisuke, decided that they were not achieving anything fast enough. She and Iyoko had a falling out. Things progressed slowly, at first, but now I'm afraid, the entire clan has split. Keisuke has challenged Iyoko for her position."  
  
"So? Let them kill each other."  
  
"Perhaps they will, but unlike those who follow bushido, this isn't a straight on fight. It isn't one person against another, settling their differences. You see, Keisuke has taken those who follow her, and moved their clan from the mountains to Kyoto. They've begun to recruit, en masse, any woman with a grudge against the Meiji government. And there are a lot of women, Saitou, a lot of unhappy women who have joined them."  
  
An army of women. How ludicrous. On the other hand, Tokio has been trained by women such as these. An army of women like Tokio, or like Ienobu...now, that might be worrisome. "And what are they planning to do? Kill us with obis and flower arrangements?"  
  
Misao grimaced at the insult to her gender. "I don't think so. The few missives we've been able to intercept from Keisuke's camp reveal that she believes that men, in particular the ones who lead this country, are the cause of all suffering and pain. She's preparing to take Kyoto. And this won't be like the Shishio Makoto affair. They'll do it silently, in the night, in the homes of the officials and politicians. There will be no fire, no swordfights, no proclamations or Juppon Gatana. When their kunoichi are all in position, all snugly nestled into the trust of those in power, they will strike. And one morning, Kyoto will wake up with no one to lead it. It will fall into chaos, and then Keisuke's small army will take control. They will only have to drive the police out of the city, and judging by how easily we entered the headquarters here, I doubt they will have much of a problem."  
  
"Naruhodo," Saitou murmured. He glanced at the silent Shinomori Aoshi, wondering why the man was letting Misao do all the talking. But, the elder Oniwabanshuu kept his ki morosely guarded. Damn ninjas. "Once they have Kyoto, they will force the Meiji government to listen to them, is that it? Hn. While this is all terribly interesting, why come to me? Shouldn't you be speaking to the police in Kyoto?"  
  
"We have." Misao briefly glanced at Aoshi, as well, as if waiting for some unseen signal. Sighing almost imperceptively, she continued, "And they have given us their word that they will do as much as they can from their end. But, the people of Kyoto, and by extension the police there, see the Hachinisasareru as mere legends, a cautionary tale told by mothers to their sons to keep them from beating their future wives. But, as wives and daughters disappear from Kyoto homes, the legend grows from cautionary to terrific. In addition, no one wants to fight these women, to take up swords against little sisters and believed nieces. So, the Oniwabansuu have decided to continue to work to protect the city."  
  
"How noble of you," Saitou interjected dryly.  
  
"What we've found is that Keisuke hesitates to continue. She wants the total of the Hachinisasareru clan under her control before she proceeds, but fully one half remains loyal to Iyoko, and waits in their headquarters in the mountains near Mibu. I suppose she believes that, with Iyoko dead, and the title of Okashira on her shoulders, the clan will be reunited under her direction. But Iyoko is missing. And we didn't know why until today. She's seeking a weapon, here in Tokyo, one that she believes will help her defeat Keisuke."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou replied, leaning back in his chair. Now he understood. "So, you need my assistance in finding the possible arms dealers here in Tokyo with which she may be dealing."  
  
"No, Saitou," Misao replied, her face deadly serious, its usual whimsy forgotten, "The instrument they are looking for is not made of wood or metal. The weapon they want, from what we understand, is Iyoko's granddaughter. But, you're a clever man. And I am pretty sure you already know the name of that woman."  
  
Saitou felt the bottom of his stomach curl into a knot. Tokio? But what could they want from her? Tokio was no weapon. She couldn't even leave a bruise on Eiji with a frying pan, even if the boy were tied up and -asleep-.   
  
But, somehow, Saitou knew he should have seen this coming. Something had never fit about Ienobu kidnapping Tokio. If Iyoko wanted to speak to her granddaughter so badly, why not just -tell- her where Tokio was? At the time, Saitou had figured that the male kunoichi had wanted her as bait. But, why go through the trouble? Why give up the chance of a surprise attack? After all, surprise was one of the favorite weapons of a ninja.  
  
He should have known. He just...should have known.   
  
"Hn. I'm certain that for whatever reason they seek my wife, it is a futile endeavor. She is not a ninja. She can't even chop her own firewood."  
  
"Nonetheless, she's in danger. If Iyoko is looking for her, then we can only assume Keisuke's group is looking for her, too. If either side finds her, who is to say what will happen? We suggest that you send her away, hide Tokio-san somewhere until we can find Keisuke and subdue her."  
  
Saitou closed his eyes briefly. Sending Tokio away, while not something he'd ever wished to do, would be the best answer, for her own protection, as well as Tsutomu's. Besides, it would only be temporary. "Aa. We have acquaintances in Osaka. She can go there."  
  
"Good," Misao replied, "We will be returning to Kyoto tomorrow to continue our investigation. If we discover anything else pertinent, we'll send a messenger. Thank you for your time."  
  
Misao stood, and turned towards Aoshi, who remained seated. The older ninja glanced up at his Okashira pointedly, looking as if he were trying to decide how to get his point across in the fewest amount of syllables. "Wait. Tell him about the assassinations."  
  
"Oh yes," Misao replied turning back around, "How could I forget?"  
  
"Assassinations?"  
  
"Around the time that Keisuke arrived in Kyoto, police officers of various ranks began to turn up dead. At first, we didn't think it had any connection to the Hachinisasareru, but due to the specific nature of the deaths, Aoshi-sama took quite an interest in the investigation. You see, to a man, they were all killed by kodachi blades, all stabbed in the back. Some of the cops were even sword-carrying police. The crime scenes all had evidence of ferocious battles. The Hachinisasareru, as you know, don't tend to use bladed weapons in that manner, so we didn't make the connection at first. But, when we spoke to the police, they told us that every man, twelve in total now, had kanji scratched into their torsos. The words read 'Nakenashi the Ghost'. Some of Keisuke's correspondence has also referred to a 'Nakenashi'. Man or woman, this assassin is working for Keisuke, we're fairly certain. What we don't know is if Nakenashi is Hachinisasareru or a hired outsider. But, it seems likely that Nakenashi will be the one that Keisuke will send here to Tokyo."  
  
"Indeed," Saitou replied. Strangely, he felt better about that than any of the previous news. At least he could -fight- an assassin. And if he could stand against the Hitokiri Battousai, this Nakenashi shouldn't be a problem. Unless, of course, he...or she...found Tokio before they could get her out of the city. "Your warning is duly noted. I suppose you think that I now owe you some sort of favor for all of this information."  
  
"On the contrary," Misao replied as Aoshi finally stood. "Just keep Tokio-san safe. I know how much Eiji-chan adores her. And, um, Saitou..."  
  
"Aa? What now?"  
  
The mirthful Misao bounciness that had been missing for most of the meeting returned in a flash. Misao rocked forward on her toes in a spritely half-hop and said, "Heard you have a new son. Congratulations!"  
  
Himura and the tanuki just couldn't keep their mouths shut about anything, could they? Ignoring the annoying onmitsu, Saitou called out to the next room, "Chou! Show these two out. Make certain they leave the premises."  
  
"Sure, Boss."  
  
As Aoshi and Misao collected their weapons from the next room, Saitou was pretty sure he heard Misao ask, "How'd I do, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
The reply, whatever it was, wasn't audible. Nonetheless, it must have been positive, since Misao then declared, "Okay! Let's go to the Akabeko! I'm so hungry. I'm still growing, you know. What? No, really. I'm growing. I could be as tall as you someday, Aoshi-sama, don't you think..."  
  
Her voice trailed off as Chou led them down the hall, leaving Saitou to his thoughts. So, the Hachinisasareru still wanted Tokio for some unknown reason. Disturbing as that idea might be, the Oniwabanshuu plan seemed sound enough. Tokio, Eiji and Tsutomu could go and visit Kozue and Kume in Osaka. But, should he tell her, or anyone, why they were going? His wife wasn't prone to heroics, so it didn't seem likely that she would do anything stupid if she knew. And, if he didn't tell her, she'd suspect something amiss, at any rate. Yes. It would be best to tell her. He'd just have to beat her to within an inch of her life if she refused to get on the train.  
  
Chou returned only a few minutes later to find Saitou standing and firmly adjusting his policeman's cap.  
  
"We goin' somewhere, Boss?"  
  
"Aa. You're going to Tokio's shop. If anyone is there, bring them to my house. I'm going to find Okita, and will meet you there as soon as possible. Be alert. There may be people seeking to abduct Tokio."  
  
Chou grinned wickedly at the thought of seeing Naoya. "No problem, Boss. You can count on me."  
  
Well, at least the dumb broomhead was useful for something.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Are you certain that this walk isn't too much for you, Tokio?"   
  
Tokio patted the hand that supported her left arm and gave Okita a reassuring smile. It was the fourth time he'd asked that question in the last fifteen minutes. And while the journey caused her to exert herself a bit more than she had in the past months, it felt rather invigorating to be allowed to walk again. "No, Souji. I shall be fine."  
  
Okita flinched inwardly. Hearing Tokio's actual voice still took him by surprise. Instinctively, he would strain to hear her whisper, only to be met with the softly soothing tones of her renewed speech, like listening for the rain and hearing the ocean instead. Yet, she was the same Tokio as always, was she not?   
  
Around them, spring bloomed with leonine spirit. The outstretched paws of tree branches grasped playfully at birds and butterflies. Tokyo became a jungle of life, reborn from the dull winter with a roar. A fine day, indeed, with the sun at their backs and the gentle breeze on their faces, a fine day for a walk.  
  
"You may say that you are well, Tokio, but the pressure with which you are gripping my arm tells a different tale."  
  
Tokio hiccoughed an apology and loosened her grip. "I'm only worried about Tsutomu. I've not been away from him much."  
  
"Ah," Souji replied with a knowing nod, "But, he shall be fine in Naoya's care. She's becoming quite a responsible young lady, you know. And besides, she'll likely need practice. I'm certain we'll see her with a child of her own before too long."  
  
"Do you think so, Souji?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
Tokio chuckled. Strangely, though her voice had returned, her laughter remained silent, showing only in her eyes and the shaking of her shoulders. "How long do you think she'll keep him waiting for an answer?"  
  
"I don't know. But, it really is quite amusing pretending we don't have any clue, don't you think?" Okita stopped to help Tokio up a few stone steps set into the grassy path they had been traveling. "Besides, Eiji-chan is with her. And he'd gnaw the legs off of anyone who came within ten feet of Tsutomu. He's quite taken with his adoptive brother."  
  
Tokio nodded as she looped her arm through Okita's once again. Eiji was, indeed, quite protective of Tsutomu. He spent hours telling the baby story after story of Shingetsu. He'd even constructed a toy rattle out of dried beans and a small gourd. Yes. Quite the amazing little family they had built. And, for the first time, Tokio believed, she'd quite enjoy the wonders of springtime.  
  
Which brought her thoughts back to the journey that she and Okita were now undertaking.  
  
"Souji, you still haven't told me where we are going."  
  
"Going? What makes you think we're going anywhere? I'm just trying to tire you out so that you'll refrain from trying to feed me any more mochi today. Pretty soon, I'll be just a ball of sticky sweetness with feet and hair."  
  
Tokio dug one of her fingernails into Okita's hand in reprimand.   
  
"Itai! See here, young woman, the First Captain of the Shinsengumi is not a pincushion." Okita tsked his tongue lightly before continuing. "Such a mean spirit. It's a wonder that your husband doesn't lash you nightly."  
  
"Oh Souji," Tokio murmured, watching her friend try to hide his smile, "What would life be like without your cheer...."  
  
Tokio stopped mid-sentence as the pair came to a halt. Souji's smile turned from mirthful to proud as he gazed at something in the distance. Following her friend's line of sight, Tokio turned her head.  
  
They had arrived in a level field, surrounded on two sides by massive groves of trees, and a pond on the east side. But, it was what was in the field that drew Tokio's immediate attention. Two large western-style buildings, both in the final stages of construction, the newly installed glass of their windows reflecting purples and oranges in the sunlight. Amazingly decorative scrollwork and Grecian columns adorned the porticos of both buildings. A line of formidable sakura trees lined the dirt drive to a wide court in front of the larger of the two buildings, where several workmen were tinkering with a malfunctioning marble fountain.   
  
"Souji?" Tokio whispered, her voice reverting to its lost softness in her awe, "What....what is this?"  
  
"This, my friend, is my new job. Welcome, Saitou Tokio, to the first Women's University of Tokyo. As you can see, we've two buildings ready for the first year. The Yamaguchi Katsu dormitory, and the Okita Seichii Academic Building. And I, your good pincushion friend, am to be the University's President."  
  
Tokio clutched her hand more tightly around Okita's, feeling a strange dizziness at the grand scale of her friend's project. "But...how?"  
  
"Quite simple," Okita replied, leading Tokio off to the side to help her to sit on one of the massive tree roots. "I took the money from the sale of Katsu's house to buy the land. Then, I used the contacts that I made while working for Okubo-san to solicit investors. It wasn't hard to convince everyone from politicians, to scientists, to businessmen that they'd be contributing to the future of Japan. Even the most old fashioned among them had to admit that more educated mothers bring up far wiser sons."  
  
Tokio reached up to clutch her friend's hands, her eyes shining with tears of joy. "It is truly amazing, Souji. Katsu-san and Seichii would be so proud. So...so very...touched..."  
  
"Oh, please don't cry, Tokio," Souji whispered, sitting down next to his friend, and pulling a small piece of cloth from his gi. Tokio took the offered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.   
  
"It's just...we were all so worried that you...worried about you...and all this time you were...building this..."  
  
Okita put his arms around his friend's shoulders. "Ah, but you shouldn't worry about me, Tokio. Never worry about me. You see, then I will worry about you worrying about me. And that is just far too much worry for one man to take."  
  
"I'm sorry, Souji. You're right," Tokio replied, looking again at the buildings in the distance. "It is quite grand. Even Hajime will be impressed."  
  
"You think?" Souji grinned even more widely at the thought. "You should see what we have in back. A modern greenhouse. And even a small practice dojo. I want the girls to learn kendo, as well. It will be good for them to become strong in all areas, not just academics. That's what Seichii thought, too. Do you want to go have a look?"  
  
"Of course! You must show me everything."   
  
Souji stood and offered a hand to Tokio to help her up. As she dusted the back of her kimono, Souji's eyes suddenly narrowed. He turned his head swiftly to peer at the line of trees behind them. Something...or someone...was about to make itself known.  
  
"Tokio, I do not mean to alarm you, but do you feel you can run?"  
  
The dark timbre of her friend's voice caught Tokio off guard. "Pardon, Souji?"  
  
Okita grabbed Tokio's wrist so firmly that she gasped. As he forced his friend behind his body, Okita flipped a fallen branch up into his hand with his foot. Not a bokken, but it would have to do for the moment. Okita snapped off two errant sticks, tossing them aside as he called out, "Show yourself!"  
  
Of course, there would be no way that Tokio could run. She'd only barely begun to walk again in the past few weeks, and was no doubt worn down from their afternoon journey. He'd have to make a stand here, and hope that he could fight well enough left-handed to take on the warrior with the acidic ki that now snaked from the tree line.   
  
"You must be Okita Souji," a woman's voice, crackling with age, declared. "I remember you from the Bakumatsu. The Shinsengumi's First Captain. You'll never know how many times we tried to lure you to your death. But, you had to be a stubborn one and refuse the company of women due to your beloved morals. Well, it seems you don't mind the company of women, now."  
  
From between the trees, the half-shaded form of an old woman appeared. She made her way into the light with the assistance of a walking stick. As the sun illuminated her kimono, Souji went rigid, and Tokio's hand flew to her throat.  
  
Yellow and black. The same colors worn by Ienobu. The uniform of the Hachinisasareru.   
  
"No," Souji said, holding out his hand, "Please don't come any closer. Just tell us who you are, and what you want."  
  
"You see, Meiko, what did I tell you about men? They always feel it is their right to tell a woman what she should or should not do. They make mistakes, and it is up to womankind to bear the brunt of all the sorrows they bring. Certainly, certainly. Ah, you're going to say that I'm talking like Keisuke now, but you're wrong. I don't advocate -killing- every man just because they are arrogant and stubborn. No, some are salvageable. At any rate, the point is currently moot. Shoot them."  
  
Okita heard a rustling of leaves in the tree to his left. He turned, only to see a pigeon fly out of the branches. In the next moment, a stinging sensation bit into the base of his neck.  
  
"What is...?" Okita's hand found the small dart in his neck as he dropped to his knees. Behind him, he could hear Tokio fall as well, his name issuing from her lips as she threw herself over him.   
  
"Souji? Souji!" Tokio turned Okita over in her lap and peered down at his quickly lidding eyes. "Souji?"  
  
"Not...to...worry..." Souji whispered, his body going limp only a moment later.   
  
Above Tokio, an upside-down form of a woman swung down, her knees locked around one of the branches. "Did I get him?"  
  
"What have you done?!" Tokio cried, looking up towards the voice in the tree, only to find a rather familiar face. "But...you're Kiji Meiko! The apothecary owner!"  
  
"We all have to have our day jobs," the slightly swaying woman replied, bringing the blowdart tube to her lips once again. Thwip. This one struck Tokio in the shoulder.   
  
As the world began to grow fuzzy, Tokio felt herself falling backwards. Was this some sort of dream? A nightmare? What was happening didn't make any sense. If only she could call out...Hajime would hear her and wake her. And he would tell her it was nothing, nothing at all, and that she was stupid for having nightmares. Nonetheless, he'd hold her close until she fell asleep again. "Hajime! Please...."  
  
Where the bluest of skies had been, the face of Iyoko, Okashira of the Hachinisasareru appeared, looking down at Tokio, grey brows knit in consternation.  
  
"Tell me, Tokio. Do you talk in your sleep? Yare, yare, I suppose we're about to find out."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You are nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Do you hear me? Can you understand? You're the daughter of the a peasant woman who shamed herself for a bag of rice. You aren't even -fit- to have a name. And yet you dare to show yourself here? To ask for medicines for your mother? Get lost."  
  
"Please sensei. Please, my mother is dying..."  
  
"And good riddance to her. Good riddance to you both."  
  
A foot connected with the side of the bowing girl's head, sending her sprawling into the street. The nine year old rolled onto her side, sputtering thick gobs of blood onto the dirt road. But, it didn't hurt as much as the knowledge that she had failed. No money to buy medicines for her mother, and no one charitable enough in town... No. No. There must be a way. Mama always said that if you really needed something, there was always a way.  
  
"You seem to be in trouble, eh kid?" The girl looked up, through her thick mop of hair, to see a policeman leaning against the building on the other side of the street. He was a sturdy looking fellow, with muscled arms thicker than her waist.   
  
The girl pressed her forehead into the dirt, only wishing she could bow lower. She'd had a few run-ins with the cops before, usually for stealing food. None of the exchanges were ever pleasant. "Yes sir. I'm sorry for disturbing you, sir. I'm just trying to find medicines for my mother. She's very ill, you see."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"What is your name, girl?"  
  
The little girl lifted her body only slightly, squinting through a black eye. "I don't have one, sir. Mama says that giving me a name would only be a cruelty, like giving a man condemned to die the hope for one more day of life, before showing him the sword that will take his head."  
  
"What does your Mama call you, then?"  
  
"Just 'Little One'," the girl replied.  
  
"Well, Little One, come with me. I'm certain that we can work something out to get your mother some medicines."  
  
A brilliant smile, one that erased all hurt, alighted on the tiny face. "Really, sir? We would forever be in your debt."  
  
The policeman stepped forward, the sardonic grin on his face bubbling with sinister intent. "Oh no, my sweet little girl, you'll pay the debt yourself. Tonight. That is the way of the world."  
  
That is the way of the world.   
  
Everyone must pay the debts they incur.   
  
Life is merely an accounting ledger. And those who spend too much time in the red must be made to pay. Pay in pain. And in blood.  
  
Nakenashi opened her eyes, looking down into the yard of the Fujita house from her perch within the tree. Was her vision tinted red? Yes, just for a moment it seemed that the entire world had erupted in blood. A calming vision, a river, a lake of blood. The entire world paying the price for its sins, until the ledger book would no longer be needed.   
  
That man. That police officer, so long ago, he'd been the first one to go. Sure, he'd paid to have her mother put into a very fine hospital. But every ryo, and more, had been paid for with a nine-year-old's innocence. Nakenashi's slender fingers curled defensively around her short kodachi. But he, too, had things he wanted. And it took very little time to discover what those were. And with that knowledge, she'd used his perverse desire for her small body to force him to teach her the Jigen Ryu.   
  
After her mother had died, she'd seen no more use for the policeman. It was time to make him pay his debt. And that he did. She'd left him slumped there, naked on his own futon, his wakizashi sticking from his back, her new name carved into his skin.  
  
Nakenashi. Something so extraordinarily small, it was hard to believe it even existed at all.  
  
Times had been hard, after that. But Nakenashi knew her mother to be right. There -was- always a way to get what you needed, especially with so many perverted men in the world.  
  
And then she'd found Keisuke-sama, and the Hachinisasareru. Old Iyoko hadn't wanted to let Nakenashi join the clan, saying that someone who was already adept with a bladed weapon could never be taught the ways of the Akumu, but Keisuke-sama had spoken on her behalf.   
  
After that, there were no more smelly men, no more torment to her pre-pubescent body. Food, clothing, shelter. All these things and more were bestowed upon her by Keisuke-sama. And all Keisuke-sama wanted in return was loyalty. Kindness, Nakenashi decided, true kindness such as Keisuke-sama's, was a debt you could never repay, no matter how hard you tried.   
  
She was almost fourteen now, and still not much larger than she'd been at nine. But, much, much stronger. Keisuke-sama had seen to her Hachinisasareru training -personally-.   
  
"You're to be the new type of kunoichi, Nakenashi. The kind we'll need to make things begin to happen. I love my sisters dearly, but they would work their entire lives to move a boulder one inch. I'd prefer to use dynamite to remove the obstacle in a flash."  
  
Keisuke-sama was a woman who knew not only how to get what she needed, but also what she merely -wanted-.  
  
And what she wanted right now, Nakenashi already knew. The final secret of the Fourth Akumu. That old hag, Iyoko, wanted it, too. But, Nakenashi was younger, quicker, and stronger. What was one old woman with a stick compared to a pair of kodachi drenched in blood?   
  
Nakenashi watched as a lone man walked down Taito street, ostensibly heading directly for the front gate of the Fujita house. A policeman, at that.  
  
'Hm. Keisuke-sama said that Tokio's husband is a policeman. But, she also said that Tokio would come home first. So, this is strange. No matter. This Nakenashi shan't be bothered by such things. He'll make a fine present for Keisuke-sama, all wrapped up in rope with 'bait' carved into his forehead. Oh, this shall be fun. Let's see. I bet this Nakenashi can take him with one needle.'  
  
"Sir! 'Scuse me, sir!"   
  
Saitou looked up into the tree. In it sat a little boy with hair pulled into a ponytail no longer than Saitou's index finger. The little boy, likely ten or eleven, wore a maroon gi over black hakama. Quite a severe outfit for such a small child.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"My friend and I...we were playing and...I think I'm stuck. Can you help me down, Policeman-san?"  
  
Saitou felt a jolt run down his spine. Something was just...incorrect...about this situation. Was it that a child was speaking to him? Usually they instinctually avoided him whenever possible. But, maybe not. Maybe it was just that his mind had been so locked on getting everyone to his house to resolve this Hachinisasareru situation that he'd put on blinders to the world, and the child had shaken him from his focused reverie. Well, Chou would certainly have everyone at Snowflake Sweets by now, and even though Okita hadn't been home, the message Saitou had left would send Souji running as soon as he returned.  
  
And he couldn't just...leave the boy in the tree.  
  
"Can you jump?"  
  
"No, sir, I don't think I can."  
  
Annoyedly, Saitou pulled off his gloves, and stuffed them into his pocket. He'd have to go up, then. Damnit. Tsutomu had best learn to get -himself- down from trees, because this sort of thing was utterly ridiculous. Saitou tried to remember if -he'd- ever been stuck in a tree. No, he couldn't ever recall being in a situation from which he couldn't extricate himself.   
  
"Policeman-san, do you have a name?"  
  
Saitou grabbed ahold of the tree's trunk and tested it to make certain it would support his weight. "Aa. Fujita."  
  
"Fujita? Just like that house there?" The little boy looked down from his branch at the rapidly-approaching form of Saitou. Good. With his hands occupied, the cop would be no problem at all, even if he was wearing a katana.  
  
"Aa. Like the house. And your name?"  
  
"Oh. I don't have a name," the boy replied. Saitou's brows furrowed as he heard the branch above him rustle. Looking up, he found that the boy was no longer where he had been. What? Had the boy fallen? And no name? What sort of person....  
  
A sharp pain erupted on Saitou's shoulder one second before the boy's calm face reappeared, lazily peering at the cop from a lower branch than before.  
  
What the....?  
  
Turning to look at his shoulder, Saitou saw the long needle sticking from it.  
  
Needles. Just like Tokio. Hachinisasareru. Goddamnit.   
  
A fucking trick.  
  
This was low, even for the Hachinisasareru.  
  
Damn ninjas.  
  
Shifting his weight, Saitou used one hand to pull out the six inch long needle, only to find a barbed end tore a painful gash in his flesh. Was it poisoned? Only one way to find out.  
  
Saitou lunged upwards, catching the boy's dangling foot, something which appeared to surprise the miniature ninja. In the next instant, both of their bodies went crashing from the tree onto the road below.   
  
Katana. He needed his katana. But, his damn hand. His hand wouldn't move correctly. It felt numb. Like his face. Like...everything.  
  
It was like trying to move through tar.   
  
So, it -was- poisoned.  
  
The boy was back on his feet easily. He thumped his foot thumped against Saitou's ear. "How's that, then, Fujita-san? Men. They always think smaller creatures need rescuing from everything. Can't resist, you see. It's in the ego. Makes them feel stronger. But, we women are going to show you. We'll show you strength, power, fear. It's your turn now, your turn to suffer. Very, very soon, it is going to be a good era to be a woman."  
  
Summoning the last of his strength, Saitou spit at the boy's, no, girl's feet. "Who...do you...think...you are?"  
  
"Oh, Fujita-san, I suppose you're right. We haven't been properly introduced. This one has no name, yet she calls herself 'Nakenashi'. But, don't worry, there is no need for you to remember. It'll be carved into your flesh later."  
  
Nakenashi.  
  
Saitou's eyes rolled into his head.  
  
Nakenashi...the one who had murdered so many cops in Kyoto...was...a little...girl in a gi and hakama? A little girl had just defeated him...without a fight?  
  
As Saitou lost consciousness, he was pretty sure that somewhere, somewhere, Himura Battousai was laughing.  
  
Damn ninjas.  
  
Damn cross-dressing ninjas.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Once, a long, long time ago, a slave girl named Iyoko who lived on a large farm in the south. Now, the master was a firm and uncaring man, but his wife was twice as haughty and severe. She beat the slave girl, Iyoko, daily, because she knew that her husband had an eye for the young maiden.  
  
Now, one springtime, the master took it in mind to produce honey in a grove too beset with rocks and roots to be easily tilled. Seeing her opportunity, the mistress convinced her husband to allow Iyoko to become the beekeeper. The mistress bade Iyoko to go and tend to the bees, but gave her no instruction or protective clothing to keep her safe from the stings.   
  
"If you are truly a clever girl, you'll figure out a way to tame those bees without any help from me."  
  
So, Iyoko went to the hives. She thought long and hard, but in the end could see no way to protect herself from the stings. So, she merely asked the bees, "Please sirs, do not sting me today."  
  
And, she went about her tasks, knowing that the bees could sting her at any time, but never allowing herself to indulge in that fear. When she finished with her work, she found not a single sting on her body.  
  
The next day, she came again, and once again asked, "Please sirs, do not sting me today."  
  
And, once again, her work was accomplished without a single mark on her skin.  
  
In time, Iyoko learned much about the bees. She learned that if she treated them gently, but respectfully, and went about her day without fear, they would do her no harm. She began to talk to the bees, and very much believed that they talked to her. She told them her troubles. She sang to them, laughed with them, and each day when nightfall came, cried at leaving their side.  
  
And so summer came, and Iyoko was told to gather the honey with great haste. The local damiyo was coming to visit her master and mistress, and they wished to present him with the first and finest of their new honey crop.   
  
Iyoko, however, refused. How could she steal from the bees, which had been so kind as to spare her lowly life?   
  
Her mistress beat her soundly for her impertinence, saying that Iyoko would surely be killed if she did not do as her masters bade.   
  
Iyoko could barely walk, but she slowly made her way to the hives. Once there, her resolve weakened. She could not steal from the bees, the only friends she had ever had! So, Iyoko resigned herself to die. She sat amongst the hives and waited, waited to be stung to death.  
  
"Come for me!" She shouted, "Come swift and fierce! Usher me from this mad world in the quickest frenzy you can muster. I beg of you, do not let my master and mistress make me betray you!"  
  
But, the bees would not come. All day, and all night, Iyoko waited, yelling at them, begging them, until her voice grew so hoarse that she, herself, sounded like a mere buzzing bee.  
  
Her master and mistress, growing impatient that their slave had not returned, ventured to the field with the hives. There, sitting in a meditative pose within a thick cloud of bees, they spied the form of their slave.   
  
"Girl! Quit being insolent! Bring us the honey!"  
  
Just then, the cloud moved. It rushed at the master and mistress, descending upon them like a furious storm. They screamed, they pleaded, they yelled with pain.  
  
"Help us! Help us, Iyoko!"  
  
But, Iyoko could only say, "If you are truly a clever masters, you'll figure out a way to tame those bees without any help from me."  
  
The bees literally devoured the master and mistress. Like locusts, they picked clean the bones, mad with bloodlust. They whirled in the air like a magnificent tornado, stirring the red mist of death.  
  
Iyoko slept in the field that night, and when she woke in the morning, she found the hives all littered with the carcasses of dead bees. Not a single one remained alive.  
  
For, a bee that stings must be ready to give its life in the process.  
  
When the damiyo came to the farm, some days later, he was met by a young slave girl.  
  
"My lord and lady can not meet you, sir," she said, bowing deeply, "But wished you to have the first and finest of their crop."  
  
They damiyo opened the container to take a taste, and was surprised to find that they honey, though sweeter than any he'd ever had, was the color of blood.  
  
"And that, my darling daughter, my beloved Tokio, is why the Okashira of the Hachinisasareru always takes the name 'Iyoko'."  
  
Tokio felt a slight pressure against neck. Her lips, parched, continued to move against her will. Asleep? Awake? The land between the pair? The scent of honey, covering an acrid odor that Tokio knew far too well. But, from where?   
  
A dark ghostly form moved just beyond her line of sight. Focus. No. Eyes refuse. 'Where is this? Is this a nightmare? Why can't I wake? I wish desperately to wake. Please...Hajime...someone...someone wake me.'  
  
Voices. Female.   
  
"What is she saying now, Meiko?"  
  
"She's reciting the story of Iyoko. At this rate, we'll never get to the Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu."  
  
'This nightmare. So familiar. I've seen it before. Yes. It is the same dream. Every night, the same dream, only to be lifted from my memory when I wake. My mother's voice... Always my mother's voice... I must wake. I must wake myself.'  
  
'Every night. Every night mother would kneel by my bedside. Every night I would drift off to sleep with her voice. Always the same acrid incense. Always the same soothing strokes on my ears and neck. And her voice, her calm, soothing voice. Telling stories so frightening, a child couldn't help but repeat them over and over in the deepest recesses of their minds. And with them...with those stories...the teachings of the Hachinisasareru. I remember now.'  
  
'I remember.'  
  
'I remember that no matter how hard I tried...I could never wake.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Well, how long ago did they leave?"  
  
"Hours!" Naoya replied, rocking the sleeping Tsutomu in her arms. This baby thing wasn't so hard, really. As long as Tsutomu didn't get hungry, anyway. If that happened, they were -all- in trouble.  
  
"Fuck. The Boss said to bring -everyone- to his house. And you got no idea where 'Kita-san and Tokio-san went?"  
  
"None."  
  
Eiji, standing behind the counter at Snowflake Sweets wrapping candies into small paper boxes, looked up from his task. "Something wrong, Chou?"  
  
"Aa. Someone's tryin' ta kidnap Tokio-san." The tall man rubbed at his gravity-defying mane of hair in thought, trying to figure out what to do.  
  
"Kidnap Auntie Tokio? Huh? Like Pastry Spies or something? Confectioner counter-intelligence? I mean, sure, she's a good cook, but not -that- good."  
  
Chou shrugged. "Look. We all gotta go and meet up with the Boss. He'll know what to do."  
  
Little Tsutomu squirmed in Naoya's arms. "Alright. If you'll hold Tsutomu for a few minutes, I'll close up shop."  
  
"Huh? Me?" Chou put his hands out in front of his chest, waving them furiously in denial of the task. "Why not Eiji?"  
  
"Because he has to put away those boxes, and you don't know where everything goes." Naoya sidled up to Chou, a bemused grin on her face. "Don't tell me you're afraid of kids."  
  
"It ain't nothin' like that, woman. Just...the last time...well...didn't end up so good." Chou closed his eyes, momentarily remembering the fiasco with Iori and the Battousai. Okay, so it was rather mean, what he did, but really, really and truly, he didn't mean the kid any harm. Yet, after that, he couldn't even get -close- to a little kid without them screaming bloody murder. It was like Iori marked him with some invisible 'Baby Torturer' tattoo that only brats could read.  
  
"Well, this isn't the last time, now is it? Just hold onto the kid for two minutes, alright?"  
  
"What do I get, ifin' I do?"  
  
"Who says you get anything?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Well, what do you want?"  
  
"Tell ya later," Chou replied, winking lecherously.  
  
"Why not now?"  
  
"No, later."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because why?"  
  
"BECAUSE FUCKIN' EIJI'S LISTENIN' TO EVERY GODDAMN WORD I SAY."  
  
At that point, Tsutomu woke up, screaming.  
  
Naoya slapped Chou.  
  
And Eiji sighed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Will Tokio be able to wake? What happened to Okita? Did Iyoko and Meiko kill him? Will Nakenashi kill Saitou, or will he escape before the psycho mini-ninja stabs him in the back with a kodachi? Will Chou, Naoya, and Eiji get it together enough to take care of Tsutomu until someone returns? And why are there so many cross-dressers in this story? And what of the floor show? (Wait, wrong cross-dressers.)  
  
***Author's Notes:  
  
Yes, I know this chapter has a -far- different tone than the last two. Well, not everything can be warm and fluffy.   
  
The Hachinisasareru arc was supposed to be finished in this chapter, but, as usual, it is running longer than I expected, and I decided to split it into two chapters.  
  
I know a lot of the scenes in this chapter aren't -strictly- necessary, but I think they added flavor.   
  
***FanArt Contest Notes:  
  
Nothing to report here. No additional entries. No changes to the contest. I'm guessing that everyone is too busy with finals to have time to enter. At least, that is my hope.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
This entire arc has nothing to do with the RK Chronicle or with history. I just like ninjas. I know most people prefer the emotionally revealing drama of the previous two chapters, but there has to be random ass kicking! You know, change up, not the same thing all the time. (Or I would be one drained author.)  
  
However, the addition of the Tokyo Women's University is important. Although it is -not-, of course, built by Okita Souji historically, it will become relevant as a historical tie-in at a later point.  
  
If you haven't already figured it out, the Fourth Akumu of the Hachinisasareru was revealed in earlier chapters. It is using the modulation and vibration of the voice to coerce or convince someone to do something. It is the reason that they often wear gags. Keisuke uses it to "calm" the Battousai. Tokio uses it twice (unbeknownst to her), once when she tries to convince Kenshin to kill her, and the second time when she's screaming for Hajime during childbirth. However this "Final Secret", that all the Hachinisasareru want, has not yet been revealed.   
  
It is also, as we see in this chapter, used to indoctrinate and teach new Hachinisasareru recruits. There is a reason that their teachings are called the "Akumu", or nightmares. It is because the Hachinisasareru often use the Fourth Akumu to implant teachings or suggestions into young women while they are asleep. Today, this would be known as hypnosis. And, from my research, I've found that there are legends of ninjas possessing a type of hypnosis or mesmerism far before the Western world even had a name for the technique.  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
The Hachinisasareru, in general: Why did I put these ninja women into this story? Well, I find that RK is just -lacking- when it comes to strong female bad guys. The only one I can think of, off the top of my head, is Shura. Tomoe is a bad guy in some senses, but she never really, pardon my french, kicks any ass. Even the female leads, while strong, never get to compare to the male leads.   
  
I'll refrain from commenting on the individual Hachinisasareru until the next chapter, except for Nakenashi.  
  
Nakenashi: I know it is terribly trite to have a bloodthirsty little girl as a bad guy, and way overdone. Nonetheless, I needed a deadly second for Keisuke, and wanted someone very opposite to Iyoko. She is, of course, partially pattered after Soujiro. But, I think she has a very different outlook on life than Soujiro. Whereas he parrots Shishio's "The Strong Live, the Weak Die", Nakenashi has formed her own version of the world. "Those who incur debt must pay." And, whereas Soujiro never -really- wanted to kill anyone, Nakenashi -does-. She wants revenge, especially against the men who, quite frankly, stole her innocence. She's really quite certifiably broken in the head, and for...what I think anyway...what are pretty good reasons.   
  
Nakenashi is an "abomination" of the Hachinisasareru clan. First of all, she doesn't appear in public as a woman, which is one of the strictest Hachinisasareru rules. (Remember, even Ienobu had to wear a kimono.) She uses bladed weapons, rather than poison or trickery, to kill. We do see her in an earlier chapter, she's the girl who delivered the message to Meiko, who Meiko referred to as "runt".   
  
There isn't much additional character development in this chapter, except that we now know what Okita has been doing with his time, and, of course, why Tokio talks in her sleep.  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Ryo: A unit of money.  
  
Jigen Ryu: This is the fighting style in RK of at least one of the sword-carrying police, if not all, I'm not certain. It is supposedly very strong, and they say that nothing can beat it, except, of course, for the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu.   
  
***Review Notes:  
  
If the ff.net stats are correct, then approximately 700 people are following this story. I'm very glad that so many people are enjoying it that much! This chapter will likely make it 200k words, which proves nothing except that I am long winded. And to think, I thought I would tell this entire story in 6 chapters.   
  
Everyone seemed to like the last chapter well enough, which is great. I have the rest of the story mapped out. Hopefully, it will go like this:  
  
Chapter 19: Resolution of the Hachinisasareru Arc  
  
Chapter 20: Two Years in Hokkaido  
  
Chapter 21: Resolution of Two Years in Hokkaido (If I run long on Chapter 20, which I may not.)  
  
Chapter 22: The Ghost and the Samurai (Ending)  
  
Epilogue  
  
I have the Epilogue about 1/4 written already, and it is fucking hilarious, if I do say so myself.   
  
So, that is the roadmap of where we are going. I hope you can hang on long enough with me to get there.   
  
Thanks again to all the reviewers! You are the light in my life, the beef in my stew, the Pocky in my fridge, the furry bits in my slippers, the shuriken in my ninjas, the doctor in my pepper, the ki in my Okita, the...well...you get the idea.  
  
So, a special doubleplus yummy thanks to:   
  
caitlin: Not just in love with Tokio, but Saitou too. How tragic. As for Kaoru's cooking, I meant to work in that it was not -Tokio- who was finally able to teach her how to cook, but -Kenshin-. But, apparently I forgot that part. My apologies.  
  
Misao Mei Mei: A picture of Naoya? How coooooooooool! I can't wait to have a gander.  
  
Charmed-Anime: I'm still trying to think up a "proper" way for him to ask her. Or, maybe she'll just give in and say yes without putting him through the difficulty. Hm. Hard to say. Any suggestions?  
  
Chiisuta: You know, you are very correct about kimono sizing. I forgot about that, which I shouldn't have, since I recently tried to buy a kimono. However, you still do have to size a kimono across the shoulder and by the arm length, I think. Anyway, I also think Naoya might try to wear her kimonos to the same length as Tokio, just because she thinks it looks more elegant. But, of course, there is no way she could.  
  
Cat, Avatar for the DCG: Yes, very fluffy. But, now we are back to some ass kicking non-fluff. Alright, not really. I just like ninjas. I hope you do a picture! I'd very much look forward to seeing it!  
  
JadeGoddess: Yeah, I think Iyoko was hoping for a girl. She's not a total man-hater, but most of the Hachinisasareru are all somewhat grumpy on the issue of men.   
  
_lone_wolf_236: Meiko is his neighbor. Now, whether that was coincidence, or she got into his trust on purpose to find out about Tokio, who knows? It makes sense to me, though, that a doctor would be on such good terms with an apothecary owner, since he'd have to get his medicines somewhere, right? The end of Seisouhen will be represented in this story, but much more than that, I can not say. I know that Watsuki's vision for Kenshin's post Jinchuu-arc life was a bit more upbeat, but Kenshin's life...or rather how he lives it, if he finds happiness or not, doesn't really matter to this story. I gave him Kaoru, at least, and I like to think they are happy with each other, at least for a while.  
  
jbramx2: Hoho! You're so far behind! Well, Chou will fulfill Yumi's wish later, I think. It should be in the last chapter, so keep an eye out for that. And I do think that Saitou has a very disturbing imagination. One of the funniest parts of the whole RK series, in my mind, is when he thinks...Megumi...fox....Kaoru...tanuki...Misao...weasel. Which is, of course, why I decided that he just has to name all the women in his life after animals. Kume is bunny-chan, Katsu is wolf-lady, Naoya is rat-girl, and Tokio, of course, is Kitty. Something funny that I realized the other day is that in the show "That 70's Show", the character Red, who is, in many ways, like a modern version of Saitou, I think, calls his wife, who reminds me of an older version of Tokio "Kitty". But, lets not take that disturbing analogy any further.  
  
Animyth: Yeah, a long time to answer reviews. I'm not timing this one, though. I hope to have a short break after this story before starting on my next one. I'll probably work a bit on my other two unfinished stories before taking up another long project. 6 months already! I could have written a proper book by now! Anyway, glad you liked the chapter. My christmas shopping is doing fine, I think I am finished now. Thank goodness. What a hassle!  
  
ione_girl: I tried to find out what 'Tsutomu' means in Japanese, but I could find no translation. If anyone knows, I would certainly appreciate it! Okita has his big project to work on now, and well, that should be interesting, and keep him from brooding, I hope. GLOMP!  
  
LSR-7: The reviews took an hour and thirty minutes. I'm not certain how long it takes me to write a chapter. Probably 10-20 hours? 10 for a short one like this, and 20 for ones like chapter 17. I think you are right about not putting anything in Asian teas. I'm American, though, so I put ginger in mine. Just can't stop myself from polluting every damn thing. :D I mostly drink Darjeeling, though, which is originally an India-based tea, and in that I put brown sugar and a drop of honey.  
  
silver-wolf69: I will certainly read your story! I have it open in my other window, and I will read it as soon as I post this chapter.  
  
Shinichi: Most of the research I did was on the internet. There are a lot of good webpages out there about Saitou, Okita, and the Shinsengumi. I'll be posting all the ones that I found in the appendix. (But not here, since there are like 6 pages of urls.) There is also a photograph of Tsutomu and Tokio online, which is very cool.  
  
vegetachanlover: Aku oro zan! Hahahahahaha. That is hilarious. I'm glad you liked the part about the stew. I thought it was funny, but I didn't know if anyone else would. I think you are right about Saitou, though. He probably would have waited until he -knew- Tokio was dead to throw himself on Kenshin's sword. Oh, you asked about the beef thing. Glad you asked. I decided in chapter 1 or chapter 2 of this story that Saitou is so abnormally gaunt because he is a vegetarian, and that he is a vegetarian because he can't stand the smell of meat (reminds him too much of blood, and puts his nerves on edge). Because of this, Tokio, too, became a vegetarian. When she gets pregnant, she begins to crave meat, but after being a vegetarian for 8 or 9 years, her body can't process it as it should. So, that is why she gets ill.  
  
Wolfgirl13: Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked the chapter!  
  
darktenshi: Hope I more than satisfied your curiousity about the ninjas. NINJA OVERLOAD! Anyway, I think the messed up hair does a lot to reflect Saitou's emotional state. No matter what, in RK, we never see his hair get messed up. Even -Kenshin's- hair gets crazy sometimes.  
  
dark rain: Thanks for reviewing. I hope this satisfies your craving for a new chapter. :D  
  
Rainchaser: Evil pigeons are a necessity for a good story, ne? I thought for a moment about having Yei-chan have a showdown with Snowflake. Now, wouldn't -that- be hilarious. Hey, I shouldn't have said anything because now I want to work that in.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: Woohoo. i'm glad I gave you the warmfuzzies. Well, now you know a bit more of what is up with Iyoko, and you're probably regretting that you ever asked. I swear, after I resolve the Hachinisasareru arc, no more ninjas. I promise! I'm glad you like reading about Okita. In every story, there is a character that the author patterns after themselves, I think, and Okita would have to be it for me, (I identify with him so much because I, too, have had horrible lung problems in the form of a rare pneumonia as a child made me all but cough up my innards) which is probably why I hesitate to give him a bad side sometimes. He is such a Mary Sue, but a loveable one, I hope.  
  
Cherry Delight: NO LOVE. Are you sad? Do not be sad. Just bear with me until the next arc. There should be some goo in it, I think. But, at least you can be glad that we now know why Tokio talks in her sleep, hm? And yes! A ninja showdown. I think at the end of the next chapter, I will post my omake "A Very Hachinisasareru Thanksgiving". It is horrible, and everyone dies, but...what do you expect, they are naughty, naughty ninjas!  
  
bobo3: You are right! A lot of characters to keep track of. I keep thinking I should kill a few of them off, but which ones? Maybe Okita. He's already outlived his natural life once. The final secret of the Fourth Akumu should be revealed in the next chapter. It isn't all that grand, but at least it will be an end!  
  
fujifunmum: Hahaha. I am becoming quite fond of Eiji, myself. You'll never guess what he ends up doing with his life. Ok, well, it isn't THAT cool, but...appropriate, I think. I meant to put in some thoughts from Kaoru on Kenshin using the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, but I never got around to it. Heh. Maybe she should put -his- name up on the wall as a student. Now, wouldn't that be amusing?  
  
tesuka- chan: Yes. Okita loves both Tokio and Saitou. But, it is a very abstract romantic love, I think. Maybe it could best be termed a "crush". My job is mostly boring, with random intervals of complete stress. I'm playing hooky today, though, so don't tell! Anyway, I've interjected a bit of Misao. I had to make her get a bit serious for a while, I hope you don't mind. I really do think that Misao makes a perfect visionary for the Oniwabanshuu, while Aoshi would provide the best solid support for her goals.  
  
bonessasan: Sorry about the Okita thing, then. Didn't mean to unnerve you. I think it is true about Tokio not being able to understand herself. On the other hand, I think Saitou understands himself completely, what he -doesn't- understand is why the world doesn't see things the same way as he does. Because he is so certain that he is -right-, and things go awry when he loses that certainty. This is why he -needs- Tokio standing behind him, and why he needs both Okita and Tokio's belief in him. But, I am babbling. Babble babble.  
  
Veleda: Yeah. Poor Kenshin. :( His life would have been so much better if he'd become a shoemaker or something. Heh. Anyway, women often seem to handle childbirth better than men. Or that is my opinion that I am basing on absolutely no proof or evidence.  
  
Catnip: Do not die from boredom! Everyone seems to like Naoya and Chou so much, I keep putting more of them in. They crack me up quite a bit, too. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, at least a little tiny bit, even if it is a wild tangent from the previous ones.  
  
eriesalia: Oh, Okita has fight left in him. Just not the skill he once had, I think. I wish I could tell you about how Okita bites it, but that would be spoiling the story, now wouldn't it?  
  
Tessira Aleyn: Yeah, I bet he would be pretty pissed that he went insane in -front- of Kenshin. On the other hand, Kenshin did go all Battousai in one of their fights, so I don't think our favorite rurouni can hold it over him -too- much. Unfortunately, no Sano and Megumi romance in this story. I just don't feel I have enough of a handle on Megumi to write that, though I am trying a bit in one of my other stories.  
  
The Narrator: First, let me say that I love the "Kenshin Outtakes". I want a whiffle bat now. It is funny to think about any of the RK characters holding their firstborn. Imagine Kenshin holding Kenji for the first time. Imagine Yahiko holding his firstborn! Or Aoshi. But, for goodness sakes, never imagine Hiko having a child. My god. I can see it now, "Yes. My firstborn is strong. Very strong. If I put some sake in him, he'll be even -stronger-." I must say that your thoughts on Kenshin/Okita were very revealing to me, and I think they are dead on. Support networks are very important, indeed. But, I also think that, as alike as the two men are, there is a fundamental difference in their outlook on life. Kenshin's earliest memories would be of the three women who compassionately saved him from bandits. He imprints this compassion and wants to -save- things smaller and weaker than himself. When he joins the Ishin Shishi, it is with the mind that he will do this by eliminating the cruelty that causes this suffering to the world's 'meek'. Okita, on the other hand, has no reason to cling to such compassion. He is kind, but isn't particularly trying to -protect- people, but rather protect an ideal, which is far more abstract. He sees his fight as a fight of one idea against another idea. They are basically flips of a mirror, with Kenshin putting compassion first, ideals second, and Okita putting ideals first, compassion second. Well, that is my take, anyway, and I'm just, as always, making shit up.  
  
Ta! 


	20. Chapter 19: Of Blood and Honey

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 19 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Almost two years ago.  
  
Saitou leaned forward, dipping his brush once again in ink. This wasn't the most comfortable position. Despite his distaste in western furniture, a proper desk, and desk chair, did aid in getting paperwork done. And the dim lamplight didn't help, either. Much more light, however, and he'd chance disturbing Tokio. Well, not really, the woman could sleep through anything. And, indeed, right now she was sleeping through one of the worst autumn storms he'd heard in ages.   
  
But, she did need to sleep. Seeing the Hitokiri Battousai, then being kidnapped by that pathetic Ienobu, then losing the baby... Yes, she needed sleep more than she would admit. Of course, she didn't complain, never said a word, and just went about every day as if it were normal. But he could see it, in her eyes, in her actions, how tired she'd become.   
  
Just like earlier that night.  
  
"Hajime, you've not touched the food. Has it become cold?"  
  
"No. It was improperly cooked."  
  
Saitou looked up at his wife. She sat, as usual, diagonal to him at the low table, embroidery in hand. Her own appetite had not yet returned after the second miscarriage, and she went some days subsisting on only a piece or two of fruit. Tokio's face looked sunken to him, though he knew it to be the same face he'd always seen. She'd recover. She always did. For him.  
  
"Improperly cooked? Oh, I..." Tokio's whisper faded into nothingness as she stared down at her sewing. "I see."  
  
He'd smelled the bad food the moment he'd walked in the door. Why he'd actually let her serve it to him, Saitou still didn't know. Had he wanted to spare her the indignity of knowing that at this, too, she had failed? One of the very few things in which she took such unwavering pride? Possibly. Or, possibly, he just very much liked that tiny, overly timid smile she wore whilst serving him.   
  
"Go to bed, Tokio."  
  
"No, I...must clean the..."  
  
"I told you to go to bed, woman. Why must you be so avidly contrary?"  
  
This had, it seemed, convinced his wife to do as he had ordered. She'd been sleeping soundly since early evening. He'd gone, as usual, to practice his kata, but this had been cut short by a fierce rain, and the most practical need to enclose the engawa. Since that time, he had been sitting here, diligently completing paperwork, listening to the storm.  
  
Saitou Hajime was not a man who took pleasure in many complicated things. But, he held lightning in a certain high regard. It was, of course, Okita who had first pointed out the similarities.  
  
"It splits the air without hesitation, all the force of the heavens in one resounding blow. Like your blade, Saitou-san, once lightning has chosen a target, no force known to man can hinder the inevitable."  
  
The smell of lightning, and of rain, seeped into the house, pooling in corners and crevices, puddles of a crackling clean aroma driving away the still lingering scent of the ruined dinner. Beyond the walls, Saitou could hear the thunder, and knew, with each echoing rumble, a brilliant flash of light had lashed out upon the fragile earth.  
  
Kaboom!  
  
Blood. The scent of blood and honey. It took Saitou by surprise, causing him to drop the pile of papers onto the low table and look immediately to his wife. Tokio lay, just as she had all evening, curled on her side upon the futon. But now, even in the low light, he could discern the small rivulet of blood which issued from the corner of her mouth.  
  
Immediately forgetting his evening's tasks, he turned and crawled to her side. Saitou slid one hand underneath her back, pulling her up to a half-sitting position on his lap, resting her head against his chest. It would be most regrettable to have her drown, choking on her own blood.  
  
"Tokio."  
  
When they had first married, nothing he could do would ever wake his wife. She slept constantly in those days, and would only revive of her own accord. At the time, he'd considered it a blessing. Not that Tokio made herself a nuisance, or required his attentions while awake, but it did allow him a certain intangible reprieve to collect his thoughts, especially those regarding the woman who shared his home.   
  
But, in time, he'd found her sleeping patterns to become more normal. He knew not if his presence affected his wife somehow, or if merely living a more scheduled life had changed her circadian rhythms. With this reduction in her need for sleep, he'd discovered she'd wake occasionally on his command, sometimes by his simplest touch. He hoped that tonight would be one of those times.  
  
"Tokio. You've injured yourself. Stop babbling and wake up."  
  
No such luck.   
  
Saitou grabbed the edge of his yukata's sleeve and wiped the corner of his wife's mouth. At his touch, Tokio's lips stopped moving almost immediately. Good. She was awake now. But, why wasn't she opening her eyes?  
  
The answer came as he felt two of his fingers slip into her mouth. The sensitive flesh of their undersides scraped against the ridge of Tokio's teeth, only a second before the moistness of her tongue curled around the captured digits. He grunted at the surprisingly pleasurable sensation. So, that was what she was playing at, was it now?   
  
"You were bleeding," Saitou managed to say, his voice low and gritty. Retrieving his hand, he placed it at the junction of her breasts and ribs, securing his wife upon his lap.  
  
Tokio turned her head to look up at his face, swallowing lightly. "Yes. I fear I've bitten my cheek."  
  
"Nightmares, Kitty?"   
  
"I do not know. I never recall what I see in my dreams."  
  
The lithe woman within his grasp squirmed until she had turned herself to face him. Tokio bent forward, smirking as she ran her lips over her husband's collarbone. He watched, impassively, as honeyed lips caressed exposed skin. Seeking more, Tokio's hands slid along his shoulders, underneath the sleeve of his yukata, dragging the fabric with her movement, until his upper arms were exposed.  
  
"Playful, are you, Kitty?"  
  
"And what do you see when you sleep, Hajime?" Tokio responded, her whisper mirroring the teasing resolve of her actions. "Or does the Wolf of Mibu simply refuse to dream?"  
  
"Hn." Running his thumbs up her spine, he waited just long enough to give her the impression that he would not answer at all. "I dream of a wife who doesn't try to kill me with her cooking."  
  
Tokio, a woman never known to take an insult to her culinary mastery lightly, retaliated by sinking her teeth into her husband's shoulder.   
  
The reaction to this proved immediate. A firm grasp on Tokio's hair pulled her backwards, holding her head immobile as bestial eyes of gold searched her face. "One taste of blood and she becomes rabid, is that it, Kitty? If you hunger so desperately, I assure you, such longings can be fulfilled."  
  
Tokio breathed through parted lips, pulling against his grip on her hair in an attempt to claim a kiss from such an otherwise cruel mouth. But, he allowed so little movement that her lips could only graze their intended target.   
  
Even that minute contact brought searing heat to the back of Saitou's neck. He heard nothing now, no rain, no thunder, just the rhythmic pulse of warm breath that fell against his lips. Damn. After all these years, and she could still have him with so little. Of course, there was absolutely no need for Tokio to know the extent to which she could excite such desires.   
  
"Please, Hajime," came the whispered entreaty, "Will you not kiss me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I see," Tokio replied, her shoulders becoming rigid as she leaned back, putting distance between his face and hers. "The smell, the taste, of blood. Even though I can no longer sense it, you can, and find yourself repulsed. I apologize. I will leave you be."  
  
Tokio turned, only to have her face caught by a waiting hand which returned it to the former position astride the countenance of her stern husband. His eyes burned with nigh criminal lust, imprisoned only through sheer force of indomitable will.   
  
Ah. So that was what it was. Frankly, Tokio liked her explanation far better than the revelation that her husband pitied her condition, worried that the recent rigors of miscarriage still plagued her body as much as her soul.   
  
His forced restraint only quickened her resolve. What she needed would be given, she only had to convince him that she was well enough to withstand the endeavor. "It is simple, Hajime. I crave your touch. It warms me, feeds me, heals me. Do not deny me this, I beg of you, not for such unfounded worries."  
  
Saitou found it profoundly disturbing how easily his wife had read his hesitation. She would have made an excellent ninja, but she made a far better lover. When she had those svelte legs, creamy as butter, wrapped around his waist, urging him onwards... The way she still, every time, begged for that most exquisite moment with utterly simple words, "Please, Hajime...please...I need...", how could he refuse?   
  
"Aa, but then you sleep, Kitty. I've better things to do than cater to your capricious whims all night." Did he? Surely he did. Wasn't there some paperwork or something?   
  
Now the smirk belonged to Tokio. She ran her tongue lightly along his bottom lip, catching it momentarily between her teeth, before releasing it to reply, "Sleep? It depends upon on your prowess. Can a man fight such battles on an empty stomach?"   
  
"Eh? I do believe the battlefield is already mine, Tokio." He kissed her, letting the sugary taste of her lips cut the coppery taste of blood still lingering beyond. They fell, together, onto the futon, limbs tangling until they were one complicated mass of hard and soft, each furtively seeking more skin, more heat, and utter completion.   
  
The storm raged beyond the walls of the house on Taito street, neither occupant much caring if the whole world suffered a pathetic death by drowning. A sea could rise up, swallowing the whole of the city, a fire could claim every house, a blizzard freeze the lands, but neither humanity nor nature could shake the union of man and wife.  
  
"Next time you come to battle, Tokio, it would behoove you not to wish so desperately to be on the losing side." She lay now, her face pressed into his neck, naked legs intertwined with his own. The scent of blood had long since been replaced with sweeter aromas, ones that always tended to remind him less of war, and more of the growing necessity for a cigarette.  
  
"Was the weaponry lacking, Hajime?"  
  
"The weapons were formidable, but the tactics, Kitty, the tactics were regrettably obvious."  
  
Tokio turned to press her nose against the underside of his jaw. She winced as her stomach growled menacingly, drawing a deep chuckle from the man beneath her body. "Yare, yare, if we're out of food, you could always cook the cat."  
  
"Hajime!" She looked up at him in shock, noting the complete absence of expression. It was highly amusing to Tokio that this was the extent of her husband's ability to look innocent. "You don't eat meat, and I'm afraid Snowflake is not a vegetable."  
  
"So ka? I do believe you have been fooled in this matter. That pet of yours is most definitely less rambunctious than most potatoes." He rolled his wife onto her back, looming over her devilishly. "Besides, I've an acquired taste for the flesh of certain felines."  
  
Tokio smiled, knowing full well she'd fallen all too unwittingly into that particular trap. As he nipped at her ear, she whispered, "Tell me truly, Hajime, what do you see in your dreams?"  
  
"Lightning, Tokio. I dream of lightning, and of storms."  
  
But it was a lie. There was no need to tell his wife that, for many years now, his dreams consisted solely of the smell of honey, the sound of a whispered voice.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Rain and rain and rain. It had rained for five days straight. Ienobu sat in a kneeling position on the engawa, listening to the rain, practicing his sewing, just as Iyoko-sama had told him to do. It was an area in which he found himself decidedly lacking. He may have been a kunoichi of the Hachinisasareru in many respects, but he would never have stitches matching Keisuke's. His sempai could make her embroidery work look as if it shimmered metallic in the sunlight. Keisuke, was, in his estimation, just about perfection.  
  
"Mou, Ienobu, you've botched it again," Keisuke muttered, picking up the trailing end of Ienobu's half-made obi and showing where he'd stitched the layers together.  
  
"My apologies, sempai," Ienobu whispered, frowning at his complete failure to once again produce anything of worth. The Hachinisasareru often supplemented their incomes by producing and selling garments of exceptionally fine quality. In addition, sewing passed the time between missions, and forced a sort of meditative calmness while not training. Ienobu, picking out the stitches slowly, hazarded a glance at the garment Keisuke had been making.   
  
A tomesode. Not just -any- tomesode, but one of surpassing elegance. The heavy black silks draped across Keisuke's lap had come directly from China, especially for this purpose. Keisuke's able needle had already mapped out two-thirds of the design at the knee, a forest green dragon, sitting majestically upon pale green clouds.  
  
It was a tomesode that, many years later, -another- crossdresser would find admirable. That man, named Kamatari, would buy the kimono for his current shopping companion, Fujita Tokio.  
  
The tomesode was to be Keisuke's own. In two months time, she would become the wife of an up and coming politician, a spy within his household for the Hachinisasareru.  
  
There was no telling when, or if, she would ever return.  
  
Ienobu hoped that the tomesode would never be finished. He'd entertained the brief thought of spilling tea on the design, thus ruining it. But, no one ever spilled tea within Hachinisasareru headquarters, not when even the least talented among them could balance a teacup on two fingertips.  
  
"I wish it were not raining, sempai. We could go to the forest and gather herbs, just as we did when we were younger."  
  
Yes. In the forest. And then he could tell her, tell her how, since that first day she'd fished him out of the river, he'd loved her. Beg her not to leave. To become no one's wife but his own.  
  
"Ah, but we are too old for such tasks now, Ienobu. Gathering herbs is a chore for the youngest of the Hachinisasareru, no?"  
  
"But, still, it was a chore I enjoyed."  
  
The shoji opened behind the pair. Kiji Meiko appeared, the expression on her face blank, zombie-like. She said nothing as she walked past the two younger ninjas, down the steps and into the cold autumn rain. It took only a few seconds for the woman's thick blue kimono to become completely soaked, the bow of her obi sagging sadly behind her back.   
  
As Meiko shuffled across the yard, murmuring to herself in a language incomprehensible to the pair on the engawa, Ienobu whispered, "Sempai?"  
  
"Leave her be. She's always like this when it rains so hard. She lost her mother in a flood."  
  
"Hmmmmm," Ienobu replied, pressing his lips together, watching as Meiko climbed up onto a fencepost. "A flood? That's sad."  
  
"Yes. I suppose. Iyoko-sama bought her a few years ago from a Chinese circus. Her mother was some sort of performer, an acrobat. I'm told that her father was a Japanese businessman who fell in love the first time he saw Meiko's mother's act. The pair stayed together for some time, but eventually he became bored and returned to Japan. The very next year, the circus had encamped on the banks of the Yellow River, which flooded suddenly one night. Meiko's mother died, but Meiko stayed on with the circus, becoming just as legendary as her mother. I've heard that once, she balanced a platter bearing a hundred teacups on her head while standing atop a ten foot pole."  
  
The ex-circus performer stood up atop the slick fencepost as water dripped from her hair and clothing. Barely the heel of one foot could fit, alone, on the top of the wooden post, but Meiko managed without trouble.   
  
"Ah, the terrible things love will do to a person." This voice came from the open shoji. Both Ienobu and Keisuke turned their heads to see the eagle-like eyes of their Okashira intent on the rain-drenched ninja in the yard. "Love, and the loss of love. Meiko's father's love, so easily forgotten. And Meiko's love for her mother, so easily stolen. That night, the night the banks of the Yellow River flooded, Meiko stood atop one of the metal poles holding up one of the larger tents. All night, and into the morning, standing atop the one pole that had the luck not to be felled by the raging waters, she listened as the voices of those she knew and loved disappeared, one by one, claimed by the blackness. Among them, her mother, screaming her name, over and over, as she searched for a daughter who could not move, for fear of falling."  
  
Meiko looked down at the puddles of water around her, sobbing gently as she called out in her native tongue, begging, pleading with her mother to get to higher ground.  
  
Iyoko merely shook her head slightly and looked down at the pair sitting by the door, "That is what love is, or rather, the loss of it. It is calling out into the darkness as the one you treasure disappears. It has sent more men and women to hell than even the sword. Heed this, my children. A man can be a master of many weapons, but no man can master love."  
  
Iyoko stepped into the rain, quietly making her way across the yard to retrieve the water-logged kunoichi now sobbing atop the fence.   
  
Out of the corner of Ienobu's eye, he watched as Keisuke pressed her thumb into her embroidery needle and drew in a sharp breath. She stuck the wounded finger in her mouth and glanced back Ienobu, her eyes filled with a sadness she had never before exhibited.  
  
"Sempai! Are you..."  
  
Keisuke returned her gaze to her lap, her shoulders slumping. As she pulled her thumb from her mouth, she said, "Don't look at me like that, Ienobu. I can't stand the color of your eyes. So green...no man's eyes should be so green...like a majestic dragon, floating on a sea of tea-colored clouds."  
  
Keisuke fingered the embroidery on the tomesode lightly, the self-same embroidered dragon of her imagination shimmering beneath her wounded thumb.  
  
Ienobu's eyes widened. "Keisuke-kun..."  
  
Keisuke forced a chuckle, adeptly re-threading her needle for the next barrage of stitches. "We should go tomorrow, to the forest, and gather herbs. Mushrooms are best on warm days, after the rain."  
  
Ienobu's tongue grew large and dry within his mouth. Alone. Alone in the forest, surely he would...tell her. He would be unable to stop himself from telling her. But, Iyoko-sama would never let them leave the clan. Not for this. It would be a betrayal of the Hachinisasareru. Death would come before love even began.  
  
"No, sempai. You are right," Ienobu replied, finding his voice once again. "It is a task for the youngest Hachinisasareru. We should train, instead."  
  
Keisuke merely nodded in response, keeping her features stolidly locked into the impassive demureness of a kunoichi.   
  
Iyoko walked quietly past, carrying the slumped form of Kiji Meiko in her arms.  
  
Yes. Love.  
  
The cruelest warrior of them all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Blood. On his clothes, on his sword, in his nostrils, and dripping from his lips.   
  
Okita ran faster, the streets of Kyoto flying past. Tonight. He would have the Hitokiri Battousai tonight. His chest burned, not with illness, but with excitement. Yes, tonight. More than anything, he needed this one, last, glorious battle. His men would fight on, knowing their Captain had gone before them, removing the greatest obstacle from their paths. And Seichii would tell the children, tell them with pride and a smile, of the brother who changed history.  
  
He needed it. He lusted after it, more powerfully than he had ever wanted anything.   
  
Battousai. He was near. Souji could smell...blood, blood turned with age, blood caked onto the other man's very soul.  
  
His feet flew as fast as they could, propelling the small man through the streets like a flood. Okita could no longer hear his own footsteps, only the blood, the blood racing through his body, pounding in his ears, singing a lullaby of death.  
  
The smell of blood. Acrid and metallic, as if it were composed of the same substance as a katana.   
  
"Himura-san!"  
  
He could feel him, in the shadows, just beyond the bamboo wall, the very presence of death itself. "Come, Himura-san. I wish to look upon the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. Let the eyes of the dragon open and gaze into the soul of the virtuous!"  
  
A small figure appeared from around the thin divider that shielded an inn from the street.   
  
The smell of blood.  
  
And honey.  
  
The figure stepped into the light, her sunken face devoid of hope, her long scarf fluttering in the breeze.  
  
"T...Tokio..."  
  
Okita's sword clattered to the ground.   
  
No. This wasn't right. The Bakumatsu was over. He had survived, Battousai had survived. The Meiji Era had dawned, and with it, an end to perpetual war.   
  
Tokio looked up at the sky, her amber eyes searching the night. A whisper washed over Okita, drowning him in sadness and fear. "Ever unchanging. Neither shining brighter with joy, nor dimming in sadness. Immutable nobility. It is the fire within, deep within the stars, which guides all travelers in the night."  
  
"Tokio..." Okita stepped forward, but for every step he took, Tokio seemed to be farther away.   
  
"The ocean is too wide, Souji. I can not cross. I've become lost, and I've no stars to guide my way." Tokio turned away, her graceful steps echoing in his ears. "I can't find Hajime. He said he'd never abandon me on this road but, I can't find him. He wouldn't lie to me, would he Souji?"  
  
"No, Tokio, don't go!" But, it was no use. He couldn't get any closer. The smell of blood, and of honey, grew more and more faint, until Tokio disappeared in the distance.  
  
One last whisper hung in the night air. "Seichii's smile isn't here, either, Souji. You'd best go back."  
  
"TOKIO!"  
  
Okita woke with a start, his senses immediately alert. Around him, in the drive before the newly built University, dusk had fallen. Okita's hands searched the ground. No. They had taken Tokio. The Hachinisasareru woman had...  
  
Souji jumped to his feet. He'd run fast before, during the Bakumatsu. He'd chased the Hitokiri Battousai, a man known for his godlike speed, through the streets of Kyoto.   
  
But he had never run like this.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You're awake. Good."  
  
Saitou immediately attempted to lurch forward, fully intending to grab the tiny ninja by her hair. Unfortunately, the ropes around his hands and torso prevented any more movement than a slight shift of his weight. His shoulder throbbed in pain from where he had pulled the barbed needle from his flesh. More likely, he knew, whatever poisonous agent had coated it, than from the wound itself.  
  
Nakenashi sat a few feet in front of him, her legs crossed, sharpening her twin kodachis on a small black rock. Where they were, Saitou had no clue. The room looked like any other middle-class parlor. The only distinguishing characteristic proved to be a small wall-scroll bearing a short poem about a bumblebee.  
  
"You're in luck. Keisuke-sama says you're not to be killed yet. This Nakenashi will merely have to look forward to such a time. From what Nakenashi understands, you are a swordsman for the police, working for the Meiji, hm? Well, Nakenashi cares not for politics. Politics are what men do between the time when they are raping women, destroying homes, and murdering one another, ne?"  
  
Curling one of his hands on top of the other behind his back, Saitou tested the rope, keeping his eyes locked on Nakenashi's. Oh yes. He'd seen those eyes before. She wasn't even battling her demons, didn't even care how much gore her would seep into her fingertips. Her ki resounded with the lust for death. Yes. He'd seen those eyes. Not on Battousai, who at least fought for a cause, not on Shishio, who wanted power. No. He'd seen those eyes on Tokio, one afternoon, in the shade of a dojo's engawa.  
  
Nakenashi wanted someone to suffer. She craved revenge.  
  
"You are rather vociferous, for an assassin," Saitou muttered between clenched teeth. Hn. Regular rope. Exceptional knotwork, however.   
  
"Mmm?" Nakenashi held one of her kodachis up to the lamplight, inspecting the edge, "You know many assassins, do you, Fujita-san?"  
  
Saitou's long fingers extended behind him. A wooden wall. "Aa. In my time, I have. They tend to have a penchant for dying in my presence."   
  
"Yes. Nakenashi can see that your eyes have witnessed the ends of many souls. Did you make them pay, Fujita-san, pay for sin and for evil?" The girl placed her kodachi on the mat in front of her knees, stroking the flat of the blade with her fingertips, as one might do a cherished pet. "Tell this Nakenashi, does it not feel good to watch bad men die?"  
  
"Hn." Saitou was very, very glad to have a clever wife at this moment. He'd have to think of a way to reward her. But, not another cat. No, that was certain. 'I'll live to see Okita strike an old woman in the face before I'll have another cat.' "Enjoyment or displeasure, these things do not apply. Only those who wish for their own death fall in love with dealing it. And assassins who lust for the smell of blood only wish to rid themselves of the thunderous pulsing of their own black hearts."  
  
"So ka?"  
  
"Aa. So tell me, Nakenashi, why is it that you do not smell of blood?"  
  
Nakenashi looked up from the floor, glaring at her captive with murderous intent. Her nostrils flared as her hand curled around the hilt of her newly-sharpened knife.  
  
"I will tell you why," Saitou continued, wondering exactly where they had put his katana, "Because you bathe and bathe, scrubbing every inch. They die, and for that moment, you enjoy your revenge. But they always leave behind traces of themselves, do they not? On your clothes, your hair, your skin, and even between your thighs."  
  
Yes. He had hit upon it. Nakenashi lunged forward, her kodachi at his throat in blinding speed. Anger poured from her boiling ki as she seethed, words dripping from her lips like acid, "Who are you, who claims to know so much about this Nakenashi?"  
  
Saitou only chuckled, inciting more anger into the girl. "I am exactly what you fear me to be, runt."  
  
"Nakenashi knows not fear. But, Fujita-san will know fear. Yes, yes. When the time comes for Nakenashi to kill his wife. She owes the debt of her life to the Hachinisasareru. To pay for her mother's sins. Yes. This Nakenashi will bring accounting to the life of Fujita Tokio."  
  
Saitou felt the tip of Nakenashi's blade press into his jaw only seconds before the odor of blood, his own, filled the room.  
  
Tokio. If they had him, and required him alive, then at least this faction of the Hachinisasareru hadn't found her yet. Chou had better prove his worth this time.   
  
"Nakenashi! Do step away from that man. We've need of him, for now."   
  
Saitou had felt the presence of the other ninja long before she entered the room. Her ki, like Tokio's, like Ienobu's, seemed more constrained, detached, and missing the intent for bloodthirsty violence. She stood, leaning against the door post, wearing the uniform of the Hachinisasareru. A rather plain looking woman, compared to Ienobu or Nakenashi. The only distinguishing factor proved to be her hair, delicately piled atop her head in an elaborate up-do sporting two tall green-jeweled pins, giving herthe appearance of horns. A pair of fans dangled from her left hip. Weapons, Saitou assumed.  
  
Nakenashi withdrew, and turned, opening her gi away from Saitou to strap the two kodachi to her chest. The girl seemed to take half-nakedness in a room containing two people for granted. But, it did allow him to gauge how impossibly small the girl was. He'd already begun to guess that he'd miscalculated her age, but she truly did appear to be regrettably tiny. Even Battousai, in his first days as a Hitokiri, would have dwarfed the girl. Nonetheless, she didn't look to be malnourished or ill, and her arm and back muscles seemed well developed. "My apologies, Keisuke-sama. Are you in need of this Nakenashi?"  
  
"Yes. We must go to find out if Tokio-san will trade herself, and the secret, for the bit of rubbish sitting before you." Keisuke motioned towards Saitou laconically, all too apathetic towards his existence.  
  
Nakenashi looked over her shoulder as she refastened the tie on her gi. "Do you hear that, Fujita-san? Do you think she'll give herself up?"   
  
Saitou leaned his head against the wall, grimacing only slightly. Surely they would have kept his katana nearby. Nakenashi, at least, would not have discarded such a weapon. "Tokio? Give herself up? That would prove most annoying."  
  
"You are such a funny man, Fujita-san. It will be interesting to examine the inside of your head."   
  
The two left shortly thereafter, leaving their bound captive to his thoughts. They'd done an excellent job with the ropes. Saitou briefly wondered if Tokio's Hachinisasareru training was what allowed her to tie such complicated knots in her obis. Well, in the end, Tokio's obis met their defeat with only slightly less work than the ropes binding his hands.  
  
Saitou shook off the ropes and pulled his arms around in front of him. He flipped the tiny file in his fingers quickly, and set about undoing his legs and feet.   
  
When she'd first sewn the miniature blade into the cuff of his police uniform, he'd informed his wife that her actions bordered on idiotic. Why would -he- ever have need of such things? Damn. How annoying, for Tokio to be right and him to be...  
  
Well, slightly less right.  
  
Nonetheless, he had to admit...he had a very, very clever wife.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita slowed, only slightly, as he approached the Fujita home. It wouldn't be best to just walk up to the front door. Who knew if there were ninjas inside, hiding their presence from his trained senses? As he halted, a bright object on the ground caught the corner of his eye. There, near the roots of the tree just outside Saitou and Tokio's home, lay a single glove.  
  
A policeman's glove.  
  
Okita, a man generally prone to exceedingly poetic expressions, allowed a few choice expletives to run through his head as he bent to pick up the object. The faint frown on Souji's face grew only more deep as he noticed the tiny stitching just inside the cuff.  
  
No mistake. No other man would have 'Aku Soku Zan' sewn into his gloves.  
  
It was then that Okita heard the piercing cry from beyond the gate. A baby. Tsutomu. Surely, even ninjas would not be so cruel as to...  
  
Not allowing that thought to reach its conclusion, Okita jumped the gate and raced towards the house, hardly even bothering to remember that he lacked a weapon.  
  
The shoji slid open with a bang, revealing, in the room beyond, three familiar figures.  
  
"'Kita-san!"  
  
"Chou?"  
  
"Okita-san!" both Eiji and Naoya exclaimed over the howling of the crying baby. "Where is Tokio-san? Is she with you?"   
  
"No. The ninjas...the Hachinisasareru...they took her..." Okita looked over the room, noting the lack of another individual, "And Saitou-san?"  
  
"Said he went to find you. We were to meet him here, but he ain't returned yet." Chou scratched his head, looking thoroughly confused, "This ain't lookin' so good. Why d'ya think ninjas want Tokio-san? And why in the fucking hell won't that kid shut up?"  
  
"Because he's hungry, you idiot." Naoya shot Chou an angry look for the sixth time that evening. "And before you even ask, no, I don't have what it takes to feed him."  
  
"Give him to me." The voice was Eiji's, and the request came across as strangely confident. Naoya sighed, bending slightly to place the bundle into Eiji's waiting arms. Eiji sat on the floor, rearranging Tsutomu in his lap before slipping the tip of his smallest finger into the baby's mouth. Tsutomu's cries faded into a whimper, as he began to suckle gently on Eiji's finger.  
  
The others in the room were, frankly, astonished.  
  
"How did you know what to do, Eiji-chan?" Naoya asked.  
  
Eiji smiled sadly as he stroked Tsutomu's stomach lightly, "There were a lot of hungry babies in Shingetsu. Please, keep your voices down, if we're lucky, he'll fall back asleep."  
  
The three older people all nodded, sitting down in a tight circle to discuss the day's events. Most of the talking was done by a grim looking Okita, who not only informed them of Tokio's abduction, but also filled Chou and Eiji in on their past dealings with the Hachinisasareru ninjas.  
  
"Are you alright now, Okita-san? Not feeling ill?"  
  
"No, Naoya, I'm only wounded in my soul. How could I fail to protect Tokio-san? This is all my fault, for dragging her half-way across the city whilst she was still healing, for not sensing the ninja in the tree, for being without a weapon." Souji's head slumped forward into his hand. "How will I tell Saitou-kun? If anything happens...to either of them..."  
  
"Oh pish, Okita-san," Naoya pried the small man's hand from his face, and turned her head nigh upside-down in an attempt to get him to look at her. "Fujita-san can take care of himself, whatever happens to him. And, Tokio-san...well...Tokio-san's pretty good at it, too. She survived that puncture in her neck, and fighting Ienobu, and having that baby over there. I mean, shit, she's been married to Fujita-san for almost as long as Eiji's been alive. And that's a pretty daunting accomplishment. I thought you, of all people, would be the last person to give up on your friends. So..." Naoya swung her head back up and crossed her arms over her chest, "...do what Fujita-san always says, 'stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself'."  
  
"She's gotcha there, 'Kita-san," Chou mumbled.  
  
Okita lifted his head, a determined look replacing the defeated one. "Mm? Well..." He laid his hand on Naoya's and braved a smile, "You're right, Naoya. When did you become so wise?"  
  
"I dunno, Okita-san, could be 'round the time I met you."  
  
"Hey!" Chou exclaimed, glaring at Okita's hand, "Am I even in the fuckin' room, or what?"  
  
Naoya's free hand shot out and clamped over the tall man's mouth. "Look, I'll marry you, okay? Just -shut up-."  
  
"Mmmou mmff?" This was muzzled Chou-speak for 'You will?'  
  
Turning her attention back to the situation at hand, Naoya said, "Alright, Okita-san. Do you remember anything? Anything at all that could help us find them?"  
  
"I..." Okita's eyes widened, "Yes! Right before I lost consciousness, I heard Tokio-san say a name. Kiji Meiko."  
  
"Kiji-san? She owns an apothecary across the street from Snowflake Sweets. Do you think she knows where Tokio-san is?"  
  
"Possibly." Okita stood, looking over at Eiji who, along with Tsutomu, had fallen asleep. "I'll go and check it out. Chou, will you stay here and look after everyone?"  
  
Chou, still being stifled by Naoya's hand, merely nodded.   
  
"Wait, Okita-san." Naoya released her fiance's mouth and stood, only to disappear into the back of the house for a moment. She returned, holding a pair of bokkens. "These are Fujita-san's, from when he taught in Osaka, I think. Take them with you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."  
  
Okita nodded and slid the pair of wooden swords into the ties of his hakama. "Why two?"  
  
Naoya shrugged, "More is always better, especially when it comes to swords, isn't that right, Chou?"  
  
The sword collector grinned in agreement. "Fuck yeah."  
  
"Alright." Okita turned, heading for the door. "If I'm not back by morning..."  
  
"You will be. We have faith in you, Okita-san."  
  
Okita disappeared into the night, leaving behind two sleeping boys and a very strange couple in the house on Taito street.  
  
"Did'ya really mean it, Naoya?"  
  
"'Course I did."  
  
"And you ain't sore no more 'bout me wakin' up Tsu-chan?"  
  
"'Course not."  
  
"And if I kiss ya, you ain't gonna slap me or nothin'?"  
  
"'Course I won't."  
  
"Will ya make me dinner, too?"  
  
"Don't press your luck."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
How long had she been walking? How long was this road? And, above all, where had Hajime gone?   
  
Tokio felt certain that it must be snowing now. Tiny pinpricks of cold coated her hands and assaulted her face. But, she could see no snow. She could see nothing but her breath freezing in the air, a white haze obscuring the even whiter land. Even the sky above seemed to lack any color but the faintest traces of grey, curling between the stark clouds.  
  
Bright. White. Everywhere.   
  
This, she knew, was a nightmare. A nightmare from which she could not wake.  
  
She strained to keep her eyes open, to keep going forward. To hesitate was to fall back into the depths of yet another, more terrifying, vision. The Hachinisasareru teachings of her youth, they assaulted the back of her mind, her mother's voice repeating...over and over...  
  
"Through power of will, voice, and spirit, reclaim ye, oh my daughter, the Akumu of the wayward."  
  
What was it that they wanted? Why wouldn't they just...leave her be?  
  
"Hajime...Hajime...why won't you...wake me...Hajime...?"  
  
And then, in the distance, she saw the blur of a figure walking. The blue of his uniform cut through the blinding whiteness like lightning. Each step, so precise, the square of his shoulders unmistakable, the katana in his hand shimmering a reflection of the snow...  
  
"Hajime!"  
  
He stopped a few feet in front of her, looking extraordinarily cross. "Why are you here, Tokio?"  
  
"I...I can't...awaken."  
  
"No, you -won't- awaken. I didn't realize you were such a goddamn coward."  
  
"But, I..."   
  
Yet, she knew he was correct. Fear prevented her from leaving this dream world. The fear that, upon waking, this time, she wouldn't forget. The fear of what waited in the waking world, the Hachinisasareru, a battle, and the revelation of a truth she'd never wanted to know. Was it true that the mother Tokio had idolized had been haunting her with nightmares since before she could walk?  
  
And the fear of losing her friends, her husband, and her son.   
  
Because she wanted so desperately to live. To see Naoya and Eiji marry. To watch Okita smile once again. To become old with Hajime. To watch Tsutomu grow.  
  
Tokio grinned devilishly into her dream, watching as her husband turned and headed back into the snow, disappearing as his parting words lingered in the air.  
  
"Decide for yourself, Tokio, if you want to return. As you know, I will be waiting."  
  
Decide.  
  
No. She already knew.  
  
She had to go back. Waking...to see...all the happiness she'd cultivated in her garden.  
  
The old woman's voice floated through the air. "What is she saying now, Meiko?"  
  
Tokio could feel the woman's breath against her chin. The kunoichi was leaning close to catch her whispered words.  
  
"I can't make it out, Okashira...she's saying...she's saying..."  
  
Okashira.  
  
Okashira of the Hachinisasareru.  
  
Her...her...own...grandmother.  
  
Tokio's hands clamped around the blanket draped over her body. Well, it worked on Himura Battousai, so why not now?  
  
With a fiercely defiant yell, Tokio's eyes flew open as her hands pulled forward on the fabric, twisting it easily around the surprised ninja's neck. Kiji Meiko found the foot of Fujita Tokio against her chest, pushing her backwards as able hands pulled forward at the ends of the blanket.  
  
Meiko grabbed at the blanket, furtively struggling against the strangulation. Tokio pushed harder, using the leverage to pull herself into a sitting position, and then to stand.  
  
"What I said, Grandmother," Tokio hissed, turning her head to let her vibrant eyes lock on the startled face of Iyoko, "Is that you'd best tell me everything, with due haste. For once in my life, I've run out of patience."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita had the creeping suspicion that his age had, quite suddenly, made itself known.  
  
His lungs burned from running. His chest heaved with every pant, pleading for respite. Such exertion had never bothered him so acutely before. No. This was age, age and a more sedentary lifestyle than the one he had lived as a youth. Between thoughts of his missing friends, he wondered, once again, about death. Honorable battle seemed harder to come by in this era. And his health had proven to be nigh-perfect since Seichii died. So, what then, what was left but growing old and watching his skills deteriorate one by one?  
  
The city of Tokyo flew past, trees, houses and roads all melting into one continuous blur. Okita Souji was a man inclined to wholeheartedly embrace the concept of 'stopping to smell the roses', but at this point, he left that particular saying by the wayside. He ran faster, pushing his body to its limits, scowling in the face of age.  
  
And then, in the cloud of his mixed thoughts and exhaustion, he felt the all-too-familiar heightening of senses. They'd been moderately adept at hiding themselves, but the pace at which he had been running forced them to concentrate less on obscuring their kis, and more on not being left in the dust. Yes. He was definitely being followed. Quite a significant group, at that. Testing their respective warrior spirits, Okita found that most of them proved to be less than extraordinary. Still, what he would not have considered a hazard during the Bakumatsu would be rather more daunting now.   
  
But, three of his followers piqued his interest. The closest one radiated determination, a haughty certainty only barely shielded by a thin veil of constraint. Behind this warrior, another exuded an even more formidable ki, sickly bloodthirsty, estranged from reality, lusting for battle.  
  
And the last warrior...  
  
If he had not been so worn down from running, Okita would have smirked.  
  
Now, that was a ki he knew all too well.  
  
Okita knew he'd have to make a stand. The best place would be the market square, wide and open. If, as he suspected, most of his pursuers were ninjas, it would leave less room for surprise attacks.  
  
Upon approaching the intended battlefield, Okita's hand curled around the hilt of one of the bokkens. Right hand, nigh useless. Left hand, inept. Well, a swordsman must do his best. In a fight of honor, to protect the innocent, and to redeem himself in his own mind, a samurai must rely on inner strength as much as any skill. He always believed, always, in this truth.  
  
Besides, it wasn't like he was alone in this matter.  
  
Okita spun on his heel mid-stride, gracefully skidding backwards to a halt. If any of his friends had witnessed their gentle-spirited companion at that moment, none would have believed him to be the same man. His mahogany brown hair reflected a deeper, darker tint. Usually jovial eyes now surveyed the landscape with an unwavering crispness, and insurmountable pride. Okita drew a bokken and set himself into an offensive stance, ignoring the aches within his body and the perspiration on his face.  
  
"I will show mercy only to those who leave this field of battle before the fight begins."  
  
From shadows and alleyways, figures began to appear. Tall and short, beautiful and plain, and each dressed in the uniform of the Hachinisasareru.  
  
Save one. The smallest one.   
  
"Yare, yare, Keisuke-sama," the miniature ninja drawled, "Do you suspect that is some sort of man?"  
  
One of the older kunoichi stroked her chin in thought. "Aye. 'Tis a man. 'Twas a useful man. But now, I suspect, 'tis a dead man, mostly."  
  
Nakenashi crossed her arms over her chest, elbows high, withdrawing a pair of kodachi from inside her gi. "The Hachinisasareru thanks you, Okita-san, for informing us of Tokio-san's abduction and leading us to her possible whereabouts. Quite an interesting conversation you had, yes yes, with those strange people residing at the Fujita house. Worry not. Nakenashi will return and kill them all quick-quick, for the Hachinisasareru must cover such possible tracks, ne? No suffering at all for your friends, a clean and expedient death, this is what Nakenashi promises you, for your great service."  
  
"Involving innocents in such a battle is strictly for the basest of warriors. You can not possibly hope to succeed. I will give you one last chance to lay down your weapons, lest you face the most dire of consequences." Okita dug his toes into the dirt slightly, testing his right ankle. Yes. His arms not may not be what they used to be, but a three-point thrust needed the shoulders and legs just as much for power.   
  
A titter rippled through the Hachinisasareru ninjas. After a moment, Keisuke raised one hand to silence the laughter. "Rousing words, little man. Do tell us how you expect to fight seven highly-trained ninjas with that pathetic wooden sword? Seven on one doesn't appear to be decent odds for you."  
  
Okita clicked his tongue loudly. "I doubt you are as formidable as you believe, especially when you can't even calculate the odds correctly. Wouldn't you say, Fujita-san?"  
  
"Aa. On this, I would agree." The man in question appeared from an alleyway directly to the left of Okita, snarling visibly. Okita, noting the other man's lack of a katana, slid the second bokken from his hakama and tossed it to his friend. Saitou caught the wooden sword and thrust it forward, pointing menacingly at Nakenashi. "You have succeeded in invoking my ire, runt. A fairly complicated task, and one I do not take lightly."  
  
Okita glanced at Saitou for a split second, "Ah, Saitou-kun, did she threaten Tokio-san?"  
  
"No, the wench stole my katana."  
  
"I see." Souji chuckled, clicking his tongue yet again, "He does so dote upon his swords. He married the blade long before he ever met Tokio-san, I fear."  
  
Nakenashi ogled Saitou openly, pursing her lips together to hide her confusion at her former captive's sudden appearance. Keisuke, on the other hand, withdrew one of the fans at her hip. It flew open with a snap, covering the kunoichi's lower face. "A sentiment typical of men, is it not? To adore the sword over one's own wife. Harken unto this, ladies, for it is at the hands of men like these that our sisters suffer."  
  
Saitou rolled his eyes whilst Okita stood dumbfounded, trying to remember the last time he intentionally caused suffering to any woman.  
  
"Well, Nakenashi, do you feel up to the task?" Keisuke asked lazily.  
  
"Yes, indeed, Keisuke-sama."  
  
"Then, by all means, ladies, make them pay."  
  
"Eh, ano, Saitou-kun," Okita whispered, wrapping a second hand around the hilt of his bokken. "What, exactly, is the protocol for fighting women?"  
  
"I was going to ask you."  
  
Okita chuckled under his breath. "Knock them out and put them in jail sound decent?"  
  
"Aa. Don't crush any windpipes, Okita."  
  
"Hai, hai."  
  
"I'll take the littlest one. The rest are yours. Watch out for poison."  
  
Okita nodded and returned his focus to the group of ninjas.   
  
The marketplace became remarkably still as the two groups squared off. The clear night sky, full of a round-faced moon, cast the faces of the combatants in starkly shadowed relief. Sudden movement from the nearby apothecary building, a pigeon taking flight, provided the unspoken signal for the battle to begin.   
  
As the groups ran at one another, Tokogoro Keisuke's eyes followed the ascending bird.  
  
"Hmmmm. The old woman. She is here."  
  
With that recognition, the leader of the Kyoto faction of the Hachinisasareru abandoned the fight, and dissolved into the shadows beside the apothecary.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"There is no need for violence, Tokio. Release Meiko."  
  
Tokio grit her teeth against the sudden compulsion to release her captive. Instead, she merely loosened her grip slightly. Meiko gasped for air beneath Tokio's foot as color began to return to her nigh blue face.  
  
"Do not play tricks with me, Grandmother. You will tell me to what end you have put me, my friends, and my family, into danger."  
  
The old woman's head lowered, her graying hair shining silver in the candlelight. "Very well, Tokio. Know this, first and foremost, I did not intend to harm you. We hoped that this could be completed, and that you could be returned to your family without further incident."  
  
"I suppose I should start at the very beginning. I was quite a young woman when I came to the Hachinisasareru. Barely sixteen, and already a mother. Your grandfather, my husband, had deserted our family for the arms of another woman. My daughter, Katsuko, and I were welcomed openly into the arms of the clan by the former Okashira, Iyoko the sixth."  
  
"Iyoko-sama was a woman wiser than any I had ever known. She led the clan to amazing heights. It was even said that her particular insights into the Akumu allowed her to dream of the future. I do not know if such claims were true, but I do know that one day she came to me, and told me of a vision she had seen."  
  
"She said that one day, one of the most accomplished of Hachinisasareru would betray the clan all because of love for a man. This betrayal would tear the clan into two pieces, and spell certain destruction for the Hachinisasareru."  
  
"To prevent this, she had created a weapon. Predicated on the teachings of the Akumu, Iyoko the sixth had created what she called 'The Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu'. This Secret, she revealed to me, she had taught to the one kunoichi she believed to be the most virtuous and pure of heart, a young woman she believed would never betray her clan. This knowledge, this skill, would allow the one who knew it to eliminate the threat and return the Hachinisasareru to order."  
  
"In time, the old Iyoko retired, and I became Okashira of the clan. I thought nothing more of her words until the day your mother revealed that she wished to leave the clan to marry your father. I was devastated, for I assumed that what the old Okashira had predicted would come to pass. How I despised your mother then, not only for becoming a threat to the clan, but for leaving me, just as her father had done so many years beforehand."  
  
"But what could I do? She was my daughter. My only daughter."  
  
"It was later that same year when I was summoned to the old Okashira's deathbed. Before she went to the grave, she revealed to me the name of the kunoichi to which she had passed the Final Secret. To my greatest horror I learned that my own daughter was the vessel for that knowledge. The one woman which the old Okashira had assumed would never betray the clan..."  
  
"I was mortified."  
  
"So, I sought out your mother. I demanded that her firstborn daughter be trained in every nuance of the Akumu, and that when she turned thirteen she be given to the clan. It was my hope that, fearing my presence, Katsuko would pass the Final Secret to her daughter, in the hopes of protecting the bairn from my wrath. I had only to then use the daughter to protect the clan by extracting the secret from the child."  
  
"But, as you know, your mother died on that tragic night during the Revolution. We assumed, too, that you had perished. I decided that the old Okashira had been wrong all along. The clan had never been in trouble."  
  
"Of course, I had merely been incorrect about the source of the danger. Many years passed, and I forgot all about the old Okashira's words. And then Keisuke and Ienobu joined us."  
  
"At first I denied it, even to myself. I had warned them both, lectured them against the perils of a kunoichi seeking love. But, the closeness between them grew. I knew it wouldn't be long before Ienobu professed his love to Keisuke, so I tried sending her away, marrying her off to another man. Even this did not work. Ienobu killed the poor bastard. So, I sent Ienobu out of the clan, ostracized him for defying my orders. I promised him that when he calmed down, he could return to his home within the Hachinisasareru."  
  
"Ienobu never returned to us. The last word we received from him was that he had discovered that my granddaughter was alive and residing in Tokyo, and that he had found the man who killed his father. I suppose he challenged that man to battle, and that he did not survive. "  
  
"And with each passing day of his absence, Keisuke's anger with me grew. She never said it outright, but she blamed me for sending Ienobu away. Keisuke decided that my ways of running the clan were too old-fashioned, too mired in tradition, and that, above all, I was destroying the Hachinisasareru from within."  
  
"Keisuke gathered quite a squad of followers underneath her command. It was easy for her, as Master of the Fourth Akumu, to use the power of her voice to sway the lesser kunoichi. Yes, Tokio, you may be able to break my hold over you when I attempt to use the Fourth Akumu, but Keisuke's mastery of that skill is ten times as powerful."  
  
"She adopted a terrifying young woman by the name of Nakenashi into the clan, and forced the aging Master of the Third Akumu to train the child. With that abominable runt at her side, Keisuke has plans to destroy me, to take the title of Okashira for herself, and then to re-unite the Hachinisasareru clan under her power. Once she has done so, the goal of our clan will change. No longer will we be a force for protecting women and children. No, the goal of the Hachinisasareru will be to destroy men."  
  
"Because, as angry as Keisuke is with me for forcing Ienobu to leave, she's infinitely more angry with him for never returning."  
  
"I am too old, Tokio. There is no way I can fight Nakenashi and handle Keisuke. My forte was always the First Akumu, poisons. I know now that this was the danger which the old Okashira predicted. I just want to protect the clan, the clan and the women who have entrusted their lives to my care. So, please, let us put you back to sleep. If your mother entrusted the secret to you, then we will find it. I promise you, after this, the Hachinisasareru will never interfere in your life again."  
  
As Tokio peered down at the woman beneath her foot, her unbound hair fell into her face. Very slowly, Tokio relaxed her grip even more, until Meiko was able to free her head from the looped blanket. Lifting her foot, she allowed the ninja to roll away to safety. "After all you have done, you expect that I would help you? You tortured my mother with your hatred. You denied two lovers, Keisuke and Ienobu, what little happiness they could have gleaned from this world. And what untold dangers have you brought to bare upon my friends and family, merely by bringing us into proximity with this absurd war? No, I will not help you. Go and perish with your clan for your misdeeds."  
  
Meiko rubbed her bruised neck as she pulled herself into a sitting position against the wall. "I'm sorry, Fujita-san, but you do not have a choice. Very soon, Keisuke will send Nakenashi after you. And if she can not have you, she will take out everyone dear to you until you relent. It is most unfortunate, but somehow, Keisuke has learned of Iyoko-sama's plans."  
  
"You...you are both...wretched." Tokio's hands clenched into fists as her eyes burned, alight with fury. A lady should not feel such anger. A lady should be the vision of perfection through calmness, through patience and humility. Tokio briefly wondered if this was what it would be like to be her hot-tempered friend, Naoya. Even in fighting Battousai, Tokio had not experienced such fury. No, that had been a dull ache which she sought to fill with the legendary assassin's blood. This, yes this, felt like being boiled alive. "What makes you think you have the heart to use this gift, this secret concocted by the old Okashira? You..."  
  
"For what it is worth, Tokio, I am truly sorry for the way I treated your mother. She was a fine woman. You should always be proud to be her daughter."  
  
"I do not need your permission to love my mother..." But, Tokio's thought was cut short. A resounding battlecry came from beyond the walls, followed by a tremendous crash. The two arguing women immediately looked to the sliding paper door, where Meiko stood, gazing from the second story engawa into the marketplace below.  
  
"Okashira," Meiko's hushed voice proclaimed with urgency, "A battle. It looks like Keisuke's people. And they are fighting with two men. Okita-san and...a cop. Must be Fujita-san, ne?"  
  
Tokio attempted to hide her smirk as Iyoko joined the other ninja at the shoji.   
  
"Kami-sama," the old woman hissed, "It's Nakenashi. Is your husband an idiot, Tokio? He's going to get slaughtered. Nakenashi's hatred of the police force is nigh legendary."  
  
"My husband knows what he is doing."  
  
"Nonetheless," Iyoko replied, turning to face her granddaughter, "Meiko and I will go down and help fend them off. You stay here, Tokio. We'll finish our conversation later."  
  
Meiko had already retreated to the back doorway, where she retrieved the Okashira's staff and tossed it into Iyoko's waiting hands. Laying her own weapon, a parasol, across her back, the two disappeared out the shoji and down a back staircase without any further words.  
  
Tokio looked down at the blanket which had since dropped from her hands. 'Hajime. You came, after all. In my dreams, as in my life, your words wake me from myself.'  
  
Tokio took a few tentative steps towards the shoji leading to the second-story patio. As her fingers curled delicately around the sliding door, Tokio peeked quietly into the marketplace below. He would be fine, of course. Okita too. She would absolutely not allow herself to even consider an option other than their success. But, what a mess. What a horrid mess. Her grandmother... The corner of Tokio's mouth twitched. Even if her grandmother had meant well, her methods seemed so foreign and cruel.   
  
"Yare, yare, if it isn't Fujita Tokio."  
  
The voice took Tokio by surprise, since it seemed to come from nowhere. A second later, Tokio heard the crisp fluttering of a kimono as Keisuke jumped from the roof of the apothecary onto the patio.   
  
The woman's fan fluttered at her face as the moonlight reflected against the tea-green jewels in her hair. "Iyoko spins a good yarn, does she not? I used to enjoy her tales, in my youth, but now I find them trite."  
  
"You...I remember you. You were the little girl who caught the snake... You're Keisuke."  
  
Keisuke's eyes sparkled as she looked up at the sky. "How a woman delights in being remembered. After all his years with the Hachinisasareru, I thought it was something that Ienobu understood. Nonetheless, let us speak less of me, and more of you. In your conversation with my former mistress, there was one detail upon which you did not deign to speak. So tell me, Tokio. Do you have it? Did your beloved mother teach you the secret we all seek? Tell me. Tell me what you know, Tokio."  
  
Tokio clamped her lips together tightly as the unreasonable urge to spill her heart and soul to Keisuke overtook her tongue. Her hands clamped more tightly around the edge of the shoji, fingers pressing into the wood until ached from the pressure.   
  
"You do know, don't you? Iyoko and Meiko may be too dull to notice, but I can hear how the vibrations of your voice have changed. You remember everything now. Good for you. So, you only have to tell me, Tokio. Tell me how I can defeat those who stand against me. I'll make your grandmother pay for the hurt she caused your mother, for the suffering she inflicted upon us -all-."  
  
As Tokio's teeth bit painfully into her own tongue, her gaze fell upon her husband. His battle with the tiny ninja seemed to be growing fierce. The way he fought, it always astounded her. Never doubting his actions, never hiding or flinching from what needed to be done in order to set things right.  
  
She was no warrior. But, indeed, she needed his words now, his thoughts, his ideals. In order to succeed, in order to finish this, and cast the Hachinisasareru forever from their lives.  
  
Tokio slid the shoji open forcefully, and stepped onto the patio with utter confidence. Now was the time, the time to decide how she, too, wanted to live her life. It was time to stop walking behind Hajime on the journey down the road of life, and to take her place at his side. Together. And without fear.  
  
"Revenge has no place in our battle, Keisuke. For we are women, and women fight not with strength, or for honor, or under any ancient codes. A woman's war, always, is on the battlefield of love. In this world built by men, we are the foundation upon which they stand. And when a woman's heart grows weary or weak, she endangers all that has been built. If you had the faith, the patience, and the pride to wait for Ienobu, to fondly cherish him no matter where he is, you may have been happy in life. But, you allowed yourself to doubt the power of your own love. And, because of it, your world will fall."  
  
Keisuke snorted derisively, holding her fan outstretched in front of her as she approached Tokio. "You sad woman. You've been so long locked in your servitude to the men in your life that you can no longer even see the bars of your prison..."  
  
"No, Keisuke," Tokio replied, looking up at the ever-bright stars, the stars which moved, yet stayed so constant in their paths. Her hands fumbled with the knot on the scarf at her neck. "It was a man who freed me from my prison. But, indeed, it is something I doubt you will ever understand."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou was beginning to understand why she called herself "Nakenashi The Ghost".  
  
The girl possessed an admirable ability with the kodachis, certainly, but nothing even remotely close to the skill of someone such as Shinomori Aoshi. No, her unfortunate build made her far too small for much power to exist in her thrusts and blows. She had decent speed, as well, but for someone who had fought against the likes of the Hitokiri Battousai, her speed didn't present itself as formidable.  
  
No, her greatest weapon lay in her size and boundless energy.  
  
Most warriors seemed to fall into the mindset that size equated to power. And while a larger combatant usually could withstand, and deliver, stronger blows, you could not defeat what you could not hit.   
  
Basically, Saitou felt like a giant fruitlessly attempting to strike down a very annoying fly. There just...wasn't anything to hit. Coupled with her Hachinisasareru training in dodging and turning herself into an unidentifiable blur using the vibrations of her voice, trying to land any sort of reasonable blow on the girl seemed absurdly impossible.  
  
He was quite quickly becoming tired. So, maybe he was getting older, and didn't have the limitless energy of a thirteen year old girl. He'd be damned before the runt would get the best of him.  
  
Okita, for his part, seemed to be doing passable at defending against the other ninjas. They had, strangely enough, attacked one at a time. Saitou figured that Hachinisasareru couldn't chance getting in the way of each other's poisoned weapons. But, Okita, too, was beginning to look quite ragged. He kept switching the bokken between his right hand and his left, unable to decide which to favor. In addition, his left leg was bleeding slightly above the knee, from where he had jumped out of the way of an attack and snagged his leg on a jagged piece of wood.  
  
"You're sweating quite profusely, Fujita-san," Nakenashi taunted, "If you give up now, I'll kill you cleanly. Being punctured in the back is a horrid way to die. Did you know? The lungs fill with blood. In the end, the beating of the heart quite literally kills the victim as they slowly suffocate."  
  
Stabbed in the back. That was it. That was how all of Nakenashi's victims had died in Kyoto. Misao had said that every crime scene was accompanied by furious signs of battle. Nakenashi had succeeded by wearing her opponents down enough, until finally, they would try one last strike, she would dodge and slip around them...and then...  
  
Saitou's mind rebelled against the momentary admiration for how truly underhanded the tactic seemed. Devious. Low. Completely dishonorable. And yet, decidedly clever for such a tiny warrior.  
  
Sliding his bokken into his belt, Saitou grimaced. Well, Battousai wouldn't have to know about this. As long as Okita would keep his mouth shut, Himura wouldn't have to ever know.  
  
"Giving up, Fujita-san?" Nakenashi asked, extending her kodachis in front of her, perpendicular to the ground.   
  
"Come at me, Nakenashi. I tire of this battle." Putting his fists in front of him, as if preparing to fight the ninja bare-handed, Saitou sunk his heel into the dirt below. This had to work.   
  
The boundless well of energy which called herself Nakenashi grinned widely. She sprung forward without delay, looking intent on slicing her victim to shreds. But, at the last moment, she leapt into the air, propelling herself over Saitou's head and compacting her small body as she executed a twisting somersault.  
  
She intended on landing behind him, and using her kodachis to puncture his lungs.  
  
But, instead, as Nakenashi's feet touched the ground, she found her midsection being struck by the length of Saitou's bokken. He had used it, while still tucked into his belt, to strike behind his legs, leveraging the blow by pushing outward on the handle.   
  
Just as Battousai was so fond of doing with the sakabatou's sheath.  
  
Nakenashi's kodachis dropped from her hands as she clutched at her side, falling to her knees in the dirt street. Such a tiny person could not withstand being hit more than once or twice.   
  
"This Nakenashi...this Nakenashi has...fallen...to a man?"  
  
Saitou turned on his heel to look down at the little girl. Before she could even think to dive for her kodachis, he kicked them out of the way.  
  
"Tell me, Nakenashi, should I kill you?"  
  
The assassin winced against the pain in her side. "Nakenashi has always known the time would come to pay for her crimes. Such is the way of the world. To take lives is to consent to have yours taken. But, before this one dies, a warrior begs favor of another warrior." Exerting considerable effort to remove her hands from her cracked ribs, Nakenashi pulled her knees together and cupped her hands in front of her chest as one might do to dip water from a stream. "This Nakenashi gave a name to herself, because no one considered her important enough to bestow one upon her. Nakenashi does not wish to go to her grave without being given the honor of a name. So, then, she asks of you, to think highly enough of her ability in battle to grant her the right to possess such, and to hear it spoken before she dies. Would you do this, Fujita-san?"  
  
"Aa," Saitou replied, withdrawing his bokken from the belt. "From now on, you can be known as Jikiri. It means 'great potential'."  
  
"From now on...?"  
  
"Yes, runt, I don't kill women, or children. Even if they are cold-blooded assassins."  
  
"But, what is to become..."  
  
Saitou's bokken struck the side of Nakenashi's head before she could finish her statement. The girl crumpled instantly into an unconscious heap. "I have no compunctions, however, against knocking them out." Saitou looked to the east, noting that Okita had similarly dispatched his opponents, and was now leaning against the frame of the apothecary, breathing heavily.  
  
"Your life now belongs to me, Jikiri."  
  
Okita nodded his approval, and looked as if he was going to say something. But, at that instant, both men noted the two kis flying towards the marketplace from the alleyway beside the apothecary. Okita spun, his bokken flying from his right hand to his left, striking the first opponent soundly on the cheek as she arrived on the scene.  
  
The look on Saitou's face could not be described as the old woman flew, powered by the force of Okita's hit, into the middle of the square.  
  
"Iieee! Iyoko-sama!"   
  
Iyoko, surprisingly agile for her age, used her left hand to avoid a bad fall, springing back into an upright position. She rubbed her cheek lightly, scowling at the man who she'd ostensibly come to rescue. Meiko dodged Okita's follow-up attack and ran to her Okashira's side.  
  
"Okita? Did you just...hit an old woman in the face?"  
  
"Aa, it seems to be so."  
  
Saitou cursed inwardly as he recalled his earlier thoughts. 'I'd live to see Okita strike an old woman in the face before I give Tokio another cat.' Then it was, indeed, to be another damn feline. Goddamnit. Between Tokio, Eiji, Tsutomu, and Snowflake, and the perpetual visits of Okita, Chou and Naoya, his house was turning into a fucking zoo.   
  
"You idiot!" Iyoko railed openly against the diminutive man, "We're here to help you."  
  
Okita slid his bokken back into the ties of his hakama, not bothering to hide the confused look on his face. "But, you're the ones who abducted Tokio-san. Why would you help us?"  
  
"Because you're going to get yourselves..." Iyoko finally realized that all of her fellow Hachinisasareru, including Nakenashi, were laying on the ground, motionless. "By Kami, did you kill them?"  
  
Okita openly laughed at the woman's question, obviously finding it nigh ridiculous. "Kill women? But, that would be..."  
  
"Okita." The smaller man's attention was immediately drawn away from the conversation with Iyoko by the pressing tone in Saitou's voice. Saitou's eyes shifted from right to left as an annoyed grimace hooked his lips. "There were seven when we began."  
  
Okita's eyes widened as he mentally calculated how many opponents he had felled, and then added one for the assassin defeated by Saitou. Six. Only six.   
  
The mystery of the missing ninja solved itself only a split second later, when a section of the second floor railing fell away. In the bright moonlight, the four standing on the road below could make out the two silhouetted women. The end of Tokio's scarf flew through the air like a whip, wrapping around one of Keisuke's wrists in an attempt to pull the ninja off-kilter as she advanced.  
  
"Kuso," Iyoko muttered, allowing Meiko to help her stand, "Keisuke's fans..."  
  
"Iron fans?" Okita asked.  
  
"No. Just normal fans."  
  
Okita's skeptical look betrayed his thoughts. How could a ninja survive any fight to using -that- as a weapon? "What does she expect to do with a pair of normal fans?"  
  
"Keisuke is the Master of the Fourth Akumu. She can use her voice to make almost anyone do exactly what she wants. There is no need for her to withdraw her fans unless...they are able to resist. Your wife must have be very strong-willed, Fujita-san, to have brought Keisuke to this."  
  
Saitou crossed his arms over his chest. "Hn. Not particularly. At least, I've never experienced any trouble making her comply with my wishes. Obviously, that ninja isn't very skilled."  
  
Iyoko rolled her eyes at the realization that her grandson-in-law was, indeed, a complete asshole.  
  
Up above, the battle continued. Keisuke spun, bringing her entangled arm inwards and then shooting it back out to both release herself from capture, and send Tokio flying against the shoji. Tokio landed with a dull smack, denting the fragile sliding door inwards.   
  
"Tell me, Tokio. Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you be. I'll destroy Iyoko for you. Tell me, so that I can gather the Hachinisasareru under my command. With the Final Secret in my grasp, no one can deny my claim to the title of Okashira. Tell me." Keisuke's voice echoed in Tokio's head as she struggled to stand. Resisting the ninja's voice caused an unrelenting pain, a burning that spread through her veins from her heart outwards. It felt much like attempting to hold one's breath underwater for far too long, struggling to remain conscious and in control while the body screamed for reprieve.  
  
Tokio bit into her tongue as hard as possible. Blood filled her mouth, the slippery copper taste causing Tokio to almost gag. Turning her head to spit, Tokio used the back of her sleeve to wipe away the excess. "You...are not fit...to lead. A true commander must...forsake his heart's longings...for the benefit of those who follow. But your heart...is blackened with revenge...and loss."  
  
"What would you know of it? You're nothing more than a silly little housewife who plays at cooking and sewing all day long."  
  
As Tokio wrapped her scarf back around her neck, she replied, "I know Iyoko gave up her own daughter, to allow that daughter to pursue love, when she could have had her killed. I know, too, that she threatened only threatened her daughter to ensure the safety of the women in her care. And I know that she only pushed Ienobu away from you because she was trying to protect both of you, as well as the clan. No matter how misguided her actions were, they were actions of love."  
  
"Enough!" Keisuke lunged forward, her fans outstretched, "No one defies me." The enraged ninja spun as she landed, snapping her fan in front of Tokio's face. Tokio felt certain that Keisuke meant to strike her with the fan, and found herself surprised when the kunoichi pulled her punch at the last second. Instead, Keisuke fluttered the fan up and down, quickly pushing a wafting puff of air into Tokio's face.  
  
"What is...that...supposed to do?" Okita asked, his hands turning white from clutching his bokken. One scream from Tokio, one word from Saitou, and he knew he'd completely lose what little remained of his composure. But, his best friend was just leaning against the doorframe of one of the shops, his arms crossed, smoking a cigarette as if Tokio were entering a baking contest rather than fighting an experienced ninja. Okita felt...extremely...itchy. Oh, so -this- was what it was like to be annoyed. No wonder Saitou-kun was in a bad mood all the time.  
  
"The fans have been soaked in certain oils," Iyoko replied.  
  
"Oils?"  
  
"Agents which cause the mind to grow confused, and the tongue to loosen. In a word, truth serum."  
  
"That would be two words, Iyoko-san." Okita observed.  
  
Iyoko grit her teeth. Yes. Tokio's husband was a bastard, and her little friend was an officious snit. 'Damn men.'  
  
At the same moment, Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke and ashed his cigarette while thinking a similar thought. 'Damn ninjas.'  
  
Tokio coughed into her hand as the vapors from the oils on Keisuke's fans raced into her lungs. How strange. It smelled like honey. But, at the same time, it made her nasal passages, throat, and lungs, burn as if rubbed raw by sandpaper. Keisuke stepped back, grinning widely as she snapped her fans closed and slipped them into the thin tie crossing her obi.   
  
"It won't be long now," Keisuke declared.  
  
The burning sensation subsided quickly, replaced by a glowing warmth. Tokio felt her lungs expand, heavy with air, as she breathed in deeply. Had air ever tasted this clean before? Had the sky ever shone so brightly? Tokio timidly took a step forward, noting in passing that the whole world appeared to be expanding and contracting, as if the night itself were breathing. And with the living night, Tokio swore she could hear the last restraints on her soul snapping, allowing her very essence to flow out of her fingertips and dance in rhythm with the molten core of Existence and Being.  
  
What was...this?  
  
Her mother's voice echoed in her head. 'Tokio...Tokio...be a proper lady. Proper ladies don't... Oh, Tokio-chan, don't be such a tomboy. Civilized women don't...'  
  
'Show me again, Mama. Show me again.'  
  
'Alright, but you have to promise...'  
  
Keisuke watched as Tokio stumbled forward. "That's it, Tokio. You remember everything. So tell your friend, Keisuke-san. Remember? We played in your mother's garden together. Tell Keisuke your secret. Secrets are made to be shared between friends..."  
  
'There's a snake in the garden, Mama. A big one.'  
  
'Tokio-chan, Kami-sama has given you a voice, but this does not mean you must scream loud enough to alarm the entire neighborhood.'  
  
Keisuke's hand stretched forward, and caught Tokio's chin. Pulling Tokio gently forward, Keisuke lowered her voice to an almost childlike whisper. "We're in the garden now, Tokio. You can tell me the secret."  
  
Tokio forced her eyes closed to keep the world from spinning. Where was this? What was...happening here? No. No, this wasn't right. 'Once Keisuke has the secret...she'll...kill...me.'  
  
"Tell me."  
  
'I want to see them again. Eiji and Tsutomu. Okita, Naoya and Chou. And Hajime...'  
  
"Tell me."  
  
'I want to watch them grow, be a part of happiness without worrying that sadness lurks around the corner. I want to..."  
  
"TELL ME, TOKIO!"  
  
Tokio's eyes suddenly drained of all confusion. In tones darkly sweet, her words sliced through the air, as she leaned towards Keisuke, placing her cheek against the ninja's. "Through power of will, voice and spirit, I reclaim from you, oh wayward one, the Akumu of the Hachinisasareru."  
  
"Nani?"   
  
Keisuke tried to struggle, but it proved to be a bit too late. Tokio had her locked in an embrace. Digging her elbows into Keisuke's back, Tokio raised her hands to her lips...put her fingers into her mouth...  
  
And whistled.  
  
But this wasn't just any whistle. From their closeness, Keisuke could feel the undulating vibrations of Tokio's long-unused vocal cords. The frequency and pitch of the whistle grew and grew, causing Keisuke's head to throb as it blasted into her left ear.  
  
Until finally, it hit a note that the ninja's fragile eardrums couldn't withstand...  
  
And burst them.   
  
As rivulets of blood dripped down Keisuke's jaw and neck, Tokio released her from the tight embrace. "I'm sorry Keisuke."  
  
The ninja's jaw dropped as she clutched at her temples. Droplets of tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she realized the world had grown utterly, and terribly, silent. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "I can't...no...this can't be."  
  
Tokio, herself, seemed to be having trouble standing. She swerved, forward and backwards, as the world continued to puzzle her senses. She released Keisuke and stumbled towards the railing, seeking something to hold onto. She leaned forward, panting deep breaths in an attempt to stave off dizziness.  
  
Keisuke's hands balled into fists at the side of her head. "You...you...BITCH!" She turned, fire in her eyes, and lunged at Tokio.  
  
Unfortunately, Keisuke had failed to realize that the sense of balance also resides in one's ears.  
  
The two women collided, the impact sending them both over the railing. But, while Keisuke kept on going, compelled by force of gravity, until she hit the ground below with a thud, Tokio...  
  
Well, Tokio was in a far worse predicament.  
  
Her scarf had caught on the railing near where the section had earlier fallen away. This left her dangling in the air, hanging by her neck. Tokio kicked fruitlessly in an attempt to find a foothold, while her hands grasped at the length of the scarf. She gasped for air as she struggled against strangulation, her mind screaming one word, and one word alone. 'Hajime!'  
  
With each kick, Tokio could feel the knotted scarf constrict more tightly around her neck. So, this was it. She'd die here, after all. 'Death by hanging, how undignified. Like a common criminal, one so low they aren't even given the honor of death by the blade...'  
  
"Okita. Now."  
  
"Hai."  
  
A kodachi flew threw the air.   
  
Tokio heard the definite sound of fabric ripping.  
  
And then she was falling.  
  
Saitou reached out and plucked his wife out of the air with one hand, as simply as a child might catch a ball. Tokio soon found herself being placed gently on the ground, her husband kneeling next to her, looking pensively irritated as he removed the cigarette from his lips.  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"I detest ninjas."  
  
Her husband smirked, ashing his cigarette lazily into the dirt. "As do I, Kitty, as do I."  
  
Tokio fumbled with the remainder of the scarf at her neck, finding it still far too tight. However, in her drugged state, she might as well have been trying to undo the Gordian Knot. Reaching behind himself to retrieve Nakenashi's remaining kodachi, Saitou then pulled Tokio's hands from her neck and used the long knife to cut her free.  
  
"Is everyone...alright...Hajime?"  
  
"Aa. Everyone is fine. And you, Tokio? There is blood on your lips."  
  
"I found it necessary to bite my tongue."  
  
Saitou narrowed his eyes, but even in her drugged state, Tokio could discern the glimmer of amusement far behind his unnerving glare. "Then, I hope you do not expect me to kiss you."  
  
"No, Hajime, because I...I..." Tokio rolled onto her side with a groan. "I...think I'm going to be sick..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Are you certain, Okita?"  
  
Souji's kind smile had finally returned to his face. Once again, he appeared to be the gentle-natured soul which his friends knew so well. Squatting in the dirt beside the unconscious form of the tiny Hachinisasareru assassin, he nodded at his best friend. "I am very certain. She's only a child. We can't put her in jail. Besides, if Iyoko-san's words are true, much of the blame for her actions rests on the shoulders of Keisuke."  
  
"She may try to kill you." Saitou was kneeling next to one of the other ninjas, carefully binding her hands with rope.   
  
"True, true. It will probably cross her mind. But, ah, don't worry about me, Saitou-kun, am I not the formidable leader who once led the First Troop of the Shinsengumi?"  
  
"Hn," Saitou snorted, "Formidable? Don't put on airs, Okita. You were just -lucky- that when you threw that kodachi it struck the scarf instead of taking Tokio's head off."  
  
"Hai, hai," Okita said, holding his hands up in cheerful defense, "You have me there. But, I'll take a spoonful of luck over a bowl full of regrets any day."  
  
Tokio leaned against the side of the apothecary, sipping the tea Meiko had brewed. Her grandmother stood nearby, leaning against a long staff, a pigeon on her shoulder. Or rather, Tokio was mildly certain it was -really- a pigeon. The drugs from Keisuke's fan seemed to be making her see all sorts of strange things.  
  
"The tea will cut the dizziness and make you sleepy. After a good rest, the effects of the drugs from Keisuke's fans will wear off, and you'll be fine.   
  
"I thank you, Kiji-san," Tokio replied, lifting the cup once again to her lips. After the warm liquid slid down her throat, Tokio bowed her head slightly to add, "And I apologize for trying to strangle you earlier. I've recently found out that it can be quite...painful."  
  
A small smile crossed the ninja's lips as she nodded her forgiveness and slipped back into her shop, leaving Tokio alone with Iyoko. Setting her cup on the ground, Tokio closed her eyes, waiting for the dizziness to dissipate a bit before speaking.  
  
"Grandmother," Tokio said, gathering what little remained of her strength, "We need to talk."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"The sun is up, good morning, good morning, the sun is up, time to rise."  
  
The tune played itself over and over in her mind, a voice like warm sake pouring into her ears. Sake, yes, she'd partaken of sake, even at her age. Good for dulling pain. Pain needed to be dulled. Pains like the one in her side, and the throbbing one on the side of her head.  
  
Nakenashi's eyes flew open to find the overly mirthful face of Okita Souji peering down at her.  
  
"Hello!!!" Okita wiggled his fingers in front of the girl's face, causing her to let out a frightened 'eep' and kick her legs frantically in an attempt to scoot away from the cheerful enemy. Okita clicked his tongue as he caught her right ankle and held her in place, "Tsk tsk. No no. No moving around. Your ribs are still setting, Jikiri-chan. The healing process is so important. Just like breakfast!"  
  
Nakenashi's tiny hands clutched the edge of the blanket covering her body as she quickly scanned her surroundings for danger. Hm. A moderately sized one-room house. A small shrine in the easternmost corner, a sword stand in the westernmost corner. The walls contained interesting fissures and patchy water spots, and clumps of moss hung languidly from the ceiling beams. The only other occupant, besides herself, appeared to be the strange little man who was now holding her legs in place.  
  
Very slowly, and exerting considerable effort not to wince at her own movements, Nakenashi slid her hand from her hip to her chest, searching out the weapons usually strapped there. No. No weapons. Bandages, but, no weapons. Panic flooded the tiny assassin's body. Her gaze darted towards the shoji across the room. Escape would be painful, but likely better than whatever lay in store if she stayed.  
  
Because the strange little man holding down her ankles wouldn't stop grinning.  
  
"Eh?" Okita followed the girl's gaze towards the sliding door. "Ohhh. I see. Well, if you'd like to run away, I implore you to have breakfast beforehand. I'm not exactly certain how much food a little girl can eat, so... Say, do you like jam, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
Jikiri. That name. He'd called her that before, too. Jikiri.   
  
The events of the previous night began to percolate back into the small ninja's mind. Capturing...and then fighting...that man. That cop. Fujita-san. It seemed like their battle had lasted forever. No one had ever been able to keep up with her for so long. His bokken moved with such terrifying efficiency. Several times, she thought he could have stuck a vital area, her neck or her chest... The way he handled that bokken, with such extraordinary power, he could have sliced her just as easily as if he'd been wielding a katana. But, he didn't. It was like he was waiting for her to... No, it was like he was toying with her. His eyes, those feral eyes, like a beast cornering its prey, as if he knew all along that he would win. As if, deep within his soul, he had long ago decided never to be afraid of anything.  
  
And then he'd named her 'Jikiri'.  
  
But, how did she go from being executed in the marketplace to -this- place? Where was Keisuke-sama? And above all...  
  
"Jam? Yes? No? Come now, Jikiri-chan, everyone has an opinion on jam. Why, I myself fought in the Great Jam War of seventy-six. Wondrous time, that was, when the jams of the world were liberated and began to roam freely all over the country, spreading their deliciousness far and wide. Don't tell me you are anti-jam, Jikiri-chan. It would, indeed, cause a great sadness within my very soul."  
  
Above all, who was -this- guy? And why was he so damn perky?  
  
"This one..." the girl winced at how tiny her own voice sounded, "...enjoys jam."  
  
"Good!" Okita let go of Jikiri's ankles and turned to open a nearby cabinet. "Let's see. We have berry jam, and bean jam, squash jam, and melon jam. Oh, how delightful, there is still some of Tokio-san's famous raisin jam. Quite tasty, I must say. And look, here's a jar of snake jam."  
  
"Sss...snake jam?" Jikiri scrunched up her face. "There is no such thing!"  
  
"Ah, of course there is." Okita looked over his shoulder and blew a puff of air upwards to remove his bangs from his eyes, "Don't tell me you've never heard of it. No? Well, snake jam it is, then."  
  
The odd man turned back around and sat cross-legged by the futon. By his side sat a covered basket, from which he withdrew several cakes of pressed rice. These he began to coat in the aforementioned jam and, when satisfied, he handed one to Jikiri.  
  
The girl stuck out her hand timidly to snatch the food, keeping her eyes locked on the little man. Souji shrugged and nibbled at his own breakfast, making small mewling sounds of delight with each bite. "S'good, you should try it, Jikiri-chan."  
  
Jikiri peered at the food and then brought it to her nose to sniff at it. What if...what if he...  
  
"It isn't poisoned. Look. See? I'm eating it, too."  
  
Tentatively, the girl took a small bite. It, was, indeed good. But...  
  
"This is just plain red bean jam," Jikiri announced.  
  
"So ka?" Okita looked at his food, poking at it with one finger to remove some of the paste. Sticking his finger in his mouth, he swished the jam around thoughtfully before replying, "Hai, hai, you may be correct. Very clever of you to figure it out. Tasty, nonetheless, ne?"  
  
Jikiri just continued to glare at Okita as she ate. Men. Men were never to be trusted. They always wanted -something-, and more often than not, what they wanted was perverted and revolting. On the other hand, Ienobu-sama had been a man. But, then, he'd also been a kunoichi, so he didn't really count.  
  
"You know, you sleep pretty deeply, for an assassin," Okita observed.  
  
"This one was not sleeping, she was unconscious. There is a difference." Jikiri shoved the last bit of her rice cake into her mouth and chewed. She was, in fact, deliriously hungry. Her body craved replenishment following the intense battle which had robbed her of her youthful energy. She'd need her strength to escape. "This one requires more food, man-san."  
  
"More?" Okita grinned, nodding fervently, "Hai, hai. I shall give you more, but, how shall you pay for it?"  
  
Of course. Payment was the way of the world, was it not? Whatever this man wanted, she'd have to give. No use in trying to flee in this state.  
  
"What do you want for it?" Jikiri asked hesitantly, dreading the answer.  
  
"Let's see. For each one you eat, you have to stay here one extra day. Yes, I think that is fair, don't you?"  
  
Jikiri scowled. Stay here? But, wasn't she a -prisoner-? The little man's whole logic was just -skewed-. Nonetheless, he didn't -seem- dangerous. And if he didn't want perverted things, and wasn't intending on killing her, what was the problem with staying long enough to heal?   
  
"Yes. This one accepts. Give her the food, man-san."  
  
"Certainly!" Okita said, handing over the basket and the jam. Watching the girl greedily eat the basket's contents, he continued, "You know, I was worried for a bit that Fujita-san had been a bit too harsh in knocking you out, but you seem fine now, ne?"  
  
Jikiri made no reply. It was time to get some answers. No, it was time to eat -and- get answers. "Who are you, anyway, man-san?"  
  
"Don't you remember, Jikiri-chan? You followed me from the Fujita house to the marketplace?"  
  
"Huh? No, this one followed that Okita fellow."  
  
Okita's eyebrows crumpled in confusion as he produced another basket of food from behind his back. "Yes, I am Okita Souji."  
  
"No...he was..." Jikiri squinted. This guy -did- somewhat look like the rather frightening warrior who'd helped out Fujita-san. If you took away that cheerful sparkle in his eyes, and removed the smile, and... Jikiri stopped chewing as her eyes grew wide as she realized he was telling the truth. "Are you going to kill this one?"  
  
Okita laughed so hard he almost fell over. Regaining his composure he replied, "No, Jikiri-chan, I'm not planning on it."  
  
"Then what do you want of this one?"   
  
"Well," Okita cocked his head to the side in thought as he tapped his finger to his lips, "I don't want anything in particular. Once you are healed, you may leave, if you wish. I'm not certain where you will go, though."  
  
"To Keisuke-sama's side, of course!"  
  
Okita shook his head. "No, Keisuke-san is in jail. She was defeated by Tokio-san. Iyoko-san is once again Okashira, and she has said that there is no place in the Hachinisasareru for an assassin such as yourself any longer. So, once again, where would you go? Well, if you think of someplace, you can certainly leave, if you wish. But, then again, you could stay."  
  
Jikiri pursed her lips as she thrust her hand into the basket, seeking out more food. Finding none, she looked up at her captor, who as now swinging the second basket in front of her face.   
  
"More food, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
"Yes. More."  
  
"Same deal, then."  
  
Jikiri scowled as she outstretched her hand to take the second basket. Digging in, she asked, "This is true, about Keisuke-sama? The Fujita woman defeated her?"  
  
"Yes. Tokio-san used what Iyoko called 'The Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu'. It was apparently some sort of high pitched whistle coupled with the Hachinisasareru technique of voice modulation. It burst Keisuke-san's eardrums. Apparently, since one's sense of balance is located in the ears, it made Keisuke-san unable to use the graceful dodging and battle techniques of the Hachinisasareru. And, because she needs to be able to hear her own voice to modify the pitch and frequency to make others do her bidding..."  
  
"This one sees," Jikiri whispered, momentarily pausing from eating. "So, the only Hachinisasareru skill left to her is concocting poisons. So that she can..."  
  
"Don't worry, the police are keeping a good eye on her. They won't let her kill herself." Okita smiled softly as he lifted the first basket from the futon. "Afterwards, Tokio-san spoke with Iyoko-san. She told Iyoko that the Hachinisasareru clan could be hers, once again. But, only if Iyoko started making better decisions. Tokio-san said that she was still very angry with Iyoko for what the old woman had done both to Tanagi-san and to Keisuke and Ienobu. But, if Iyoko used the rest of her life to make the world a better place for women and children, if she spent her time atoning for what she had done by giving unrelenting love and help to the kunoichi in her care, then Tokio-san she would not use the Final Secret on her, as well. Iyoko-san promised that she would do her best, and left soon afterwards to return to Hachinisasareru headquarters."  
  
"But, if Keisuke-san is in jail, why isn't this one also in jail?"  
  
Okita leaned back on his hands, looking at the moss-encrusted ceiling. The whimsical cheer dropped from his voice, leaving behind a lingering sadness, "I just thought, you'd maybe like a second chance. You're so young, Jikiri-chan. There is no need to be imprisoned your whole life just because you might have done some horrible things as a child. I'm acquainted with a man, a man who once was an assassin, just like you. And, every day he kills himself with guilt and regret, building his own prison within his mind. He's long held on to a very overwhelming sadness deep inside his soul, just because, for a while, he was a demon." Okita looked down at the girl on the futon, "I just couldn't bear to think of you turning into something like that, of spending every day in jail, reliving the terror of your past with nothing else to occupy your mind."  
  
"Oh." Jikiri knew that his words required more of a response, but she currently couldn't think of anything to say. This whole situation was going to take a while to process. But, she had time. According to her internal tally of how much she had eaten, she had at least eleven days to think about it.  
  
"Fujita-san told the police that the assassin named 'Nakenashi' had been eliminated. So, unless you'd like to make a liar out of the man who spared your life, I'd suggest deep consideration before you decide to slaughter anyone."  
  
Silence permeated the room for some minutes as Jikiri continued to eat. Okita found himself rather surprised how much food could fit inside such a small body. She was just like a little squirrel. Yes. Saitou-san would agree on this, Jikiri was definitely a squirrel-girl. So full of energy, so much vivacious life. Assassins could be good people. Himura turned out alright, even if he was filled with more regret and self-recrimination than anyone in Japan. And this little girl, she'd survived so long on her own, without anyone to guide her, to show her how the world should be, how people should treat one another. Okita knew, he'd been waiting far too long for someone to come into his life and fill the void left by his brother. But, what he really needed, what he'd always wanted, he understood now, wasn't for someone to love -him-, but to give his love, and care, to someone else.  
  
"Okita-san?"  
  
"Yes, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
"Fujita-san isn't really just a cop, is he? And you, you're..." Jikiri scratched the bridge of her nose in thought before lowering her voice, "This one knows your name."  
  
"How is that, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
"Before Mama died, she often spoke of the men who protected Kyoto during the Revolution. The Shinsengumi. She worked in their headquarters as a scullery maid. She said it was the most honorable work she ever had, though it was hard. She talked about the great men who lived and worked there, about the brilliant Hijikata-san, the honorable Kondou-san, the rowdy Harada-san, the fierce and mysterious Saitou-san, and the one she liked best of all, the kind and gentle Okita-san."  
  
Souji thought his heart was about to break. Did people really think of him in such a manner? He racked his mind to remember the person in question. Yes. There had been a little scullery maid. A sweet girl who always seemed to know exactly when to bring him hot tea to soothe his throat and chest. And there had been that one night...when they had both needed someone to hold on to, when they had sought temporary reprieve from the blood and violence of the war. It was the night when they had...when he had...for all intents and purposes...become a man.  
  
Oh, by Kami, that was thirteen years ago.   
  
"She said that Okita-san always smiled at her, even though she was a very lowly worker. He treated Mama like she was a proper lady, and asked her to care for his goldfish when he had to go away for long periods of time. Mama thought it was quite funny for a Captain of the Shinsengumi to be so worried about some little fish. Anyway, after the Revolution, Mama had to leave Kyoto. She went to other cities and villages, but she couldn't give references from her last job, because no one would want to hire someone who worked for the Shinsengumi. So, she couldn't hardly ever find work. Soon after, she had me. This one does not know her Papa's name. The rumors said that my Mama shamed herself for a bag of rice, because she would never tell who my Papa truly was. Well, Mama is gone now. She died of the tuberculosis when this one was nine. But, she always said she owed a great debt to those men who allowed her to live an honorable life for a time."   
  
Jikiri bit her bottom lip a bit as she turned her head to look at Okita. "You're the Okita which Mama knew, aren't you?"  
  
Okita tried not to swallow his own tongue. Instead she just lifted his finger to point to the cabinets behind Jikiri's head. The girl turned her head slowly to peer at the counter behind her back. On a single shelf, there sat three bowls, each one containing a separate goldfish.  
  
Jikiri turned back around, her face expressionless. Far too much information to process all at once. The girl blinked slowly, attempting to grasp the situation. "So then, Fujita-san is...Fujita-san is..."  
  
At that moment, the sliding door at the front of the small house slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a lanky man in a police uniform.   
  
Saitou removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, "Fujita-san is still in need of his katana, runt."  
  
"Ah, Saitou-kun!" Okita exclaimed as he clutched his heart as he fell over on his side, faking his own death, "You're trying to kill me. Oh, cruel, cruel world. For me to be killed in such a manner, who would ever believe it?"  
  
"Don't play stupid, Souji, you knew we were here."  
  
"Hai, hai, but it is funnier my way," Souji chided, deftly pushing his conversation with Jikiri to the back of his mind as he sat back up.  
  
Saitou snorted, flicking his cigarette away to step inside. He was followed by several others, a tall woman wearing a scarf and carrying a baby, an even taller man with blonde hair that shot up towards the sky, a short girl wearing a crooked obi carrying several baskets, and a little boy carrying a bouquet of flowers.  
  
"My wife seems to think you need more food, Okita. She's worried that you'll starve the runt."  
  
"No, no, Tokio-san," Okita replied, standing to greet his visitors, "We have it under control. There is no need..."  
  
"Well, if he doesn't want it," Chou declared, "Then I'll take it. Me'n'Eiji didn't get no fuckin' breakfast 'cause Naoya said all the food had to be brought over here."  
  
"You did -too- have breakfast, Chou." Naoya set the baskets onto the floor, "You stole half a fucking pan of..."  
  
Tokio hissed violently through her teeth.   
  
"But, Tokio-san, if Chou curses..."  
  
Tokio raised her eyebrows as she shifted Tsutomu in her arms. The two-month old reached up and yanked at his mother's scarf, causing Tokio's attention to be drawn away from Naoya's violation of etiquette.  
  
"Ano, you're Jikiri-chan, right?" Eiji peered down at the girl, "I brought you some flowers from my garden. I thought they might make you feel a bit better. I'll put them in a vase, if you like. Okita-san, do you have a vase? Oh...I'll just use this."  
  
"Ack, Eiji-chan, no, that's a fishbowl."  
  
"I know, Okita-san, I was just kidding."  
  
Jikiri, formerly the assassin known as 'Nakenashi', attempted to scoot herself away from the ruckus taking place in the one-room house. She'd seen frightening things in her life, gore and bloodshed, hardship and loss, but nothing perplexed her young mind more than the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.  
  
"Who are -these- people, Okita-san?" Jikiri asked, wondering again about the possibility of escape.  
  
Okita, rummaging through a cabinet, stopped momentarily to look over his shoulder at the girl on the futon. "Jikiri-chan, let me introduce you...to my friends."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: How time flies. The long awaited wedding finally takes place. A challenge from Himura Battousai. Saitou embarks on a mission to Hokkaido, and much more. So, please keep an eye out for the second-to-last chapter of 'Hajime and Tokio'!  
  
***Author Notes:   
  
So sorry that this chapter took so long. I took a break somewhere in the middle to write the first two chapters of 'A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou', and then I had a brief bout of writer's block. Well, it wasn't writer's block so much as complete agony at how the chapter was progressing. I'm very glad to be finished.   
  
I'm hoping that the last two chapters will be -much- shorter than this one.   
  
I've been watching old episodes of Ranma 1/2. I tell you, it is quite unnerving to me, to hear the voice of the character 'Tatewaki Kuno'. As you may or may not know, the man who does the voice for that character is Hirotaka Suzuoki, the same man who does the voice of Saitou Hajime in the RK series. Quite strange! I keep waiting for Kuno to exclaim "Aku Soku Zan" and start kicking ass.  
  
***Fan Artwork Contest:  
  
I'm not certain if ff.net will make me take down the Fan Artwork Contest announcement, now that they have proclaimed that "author notes can only be appended to the end of a chapter". If they do, I'll edit this chapter and put the rules here later.   
  
I've received a second entry. Hoorah! It is quite a cute drawing of Naoya done by Misao Mei Mei. If you'd like to see it, hop on over to Haku Baikou's website.   
  
I hope to receive more art now that the school semester is over. But, who knows?  
  
***Chronicle Notes:   
  
Once again, this chapter completely deviates from the established chronicle and from history. The next chapter will bring us back in line with the end of the manga as well as Seisouhen.  
  
This chapter does, however, hark back to things which take place in previous chapters that those who are following this story as it is being written may have forgotten. For instance, the strange tomesode that Kamatari bought Tokio is seen again in this chapter. Tokio hears the words her mother spoke to her in Chapter 15. Tokio also references both things that Okita said to Himura, as well as things that her husband has said in the past. I hope none of it was -too- confusing.   
  
I think I tied up the plot, but since this chapter was so complicated, let me know if I left any holes.  
  
Also, "scullery maids" were more of a European thing, but I am certain you can understand what I mean here. Nakenashi's mother was pretty much the lowest of the staff at Shinsengumi headquarters, doing laundry, washing dishes, cleaning the bath, etc.  
  
According to "bobo3", who has a book of Japanese baby names, "Tsutomu" means: 1. study/work hard, 2. duty, 3. serve/fill a post/work 4. endeavor/diligent.  
  
***Character Notes:   
  
Nakenashi/Jikiri: Well, I think the story explains it fairly well. If you think about it, it makes sense. Okita was a sword prodigy, and so is Nakenashi. Okita is uncommonly small, and so is Nakenashi. Okita had tuberculosis, and strangely, Nakenashi's mother dies of the same (contagious) disease years later. I actually didn't -start- out with the intention that Nakenashi was Okita's daughter. I was just going to have him adopt her like Saitou and Tokio did with Eiji. But, in the end, I think this works out just as well. You may be wondering about Nakenashi's strange speech patterns, especially the fact that she always refers to herself in third person. I think it is Nakenashi's way of separating herself from her actions. I think, also, that it would be reasonable for someone that mostly had to raise themselves, to develop a mode of speaking which fell outside of the norm.  
  
Chou/Naoya: Wow. So many people have told me that they adore this couple. Sorry that they aren't in the chapter much. But, you know, at least she said yes, right?  
  
Okita: What a -trying- chapter for Okita. First he dreams he's still fighting the Revolution. Then he dreams of being unable to reach Tokio, then he realizes she's been kidnapped and Saitou is missing. Then he has to deal with Chou, Naoya, Eiji and Tsutomu. Then he has to RUN to the marketplace and fight some ninjas. Then he adopts an assassin only to discover that she is, quite possibly, his daughter. Poor guy.  
  
Iyoko: I think Iyoko is basically a -good- character who made a LOT of really bad decisions. It is obvious that she -does- care for the women of the Hachinisasareru, so much so that sometimes she does horrible things in order to protect them.  
  
Keisuke: Keisuke's probably an okay person, too. She just goes a bit crazy after Ienobu disappears. Being able to use your voice to make anyone do your bidding would be a pretty strong temptation, I think, for anyone with a grudge.  
  
Saitou: Poor guy. His katana is missing, and he has to give Tokio another cat. I think he could have defeated Nakenashi all along if his intent was to kill her. But, he wore himself out looking for an opening to strike her that wouldn't, at the same time, kill her.  
  
Tokio: Grin. What can I say about Tokio? Well, I think I can say that her past will finally stop haunting her now. And maybe, finally, she can get a good night's sleep.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to everyone for waiting so patiently for this chapter. Special thanks go out to: The Bloody Queen of Hearts, Ravin Wolf, ione_girl (Hope to see more fiction from you soon), Female Sesshoumaru (I've put your story on my list of ones to read, and should get to it over the holidays! I can't wait to take a look. Thanks for reviewing!), Van (Glad you like the story!), ChiisaiLammy (Still drooling over the H&C pictures. And thanks for the "creepy compliment!), zagato (There is, indeed, still time. I'm estimating four more weeks, at the least.), bonessasan (Why does the pot always insist on calling the kettle black? You would think it would make more sense for the pot to call the kettle -hot-, eh?), vegetachanlover, (I am not certain what "koga" means, actually. Though, that would make sense. Thanks again for all your kind words!), Charmed-Anime (Sorry. In the end, there was no big proposal. I hope you liked the Chou/Naoya scenes, though brief, nonetheless.) Wolfgirl13 (Thanks for reviewing!), Shadow Knight5 (Oh. Such a great compliment. Thank you soooooo much!), JadeGoddess (Hope this explains the answer to your question), Shinichi Dori-chan, me me me and only me, dark rain (I do have an Aoshi/Misao story stored away in my archives somewhere. I think it is only 1/3 finished, but maybe I'll post it sometime.),   
  
Mystikat: You are cracking me up! Does H&T really through you for an emotional loop? I'm sorry, really I am. Anyway, I thank you, truly and deeply, for your compliments. I see that you are a big Sou/Mis pairing fan. Me too, actually. I think those two can make a great pair, if the stories are done well. Anyway, you shouldn't worry at all about achieving your goal of becoming an awesome writer. Because, all you have to do is be the best writer you can be, every time. :D Ok, that was my cheesy way of trying to give you a pep talk. I'm not good at pep talks, so here. *thunk on table* Have this potted cactus, instead.  
  
aiteane: You hope someone dies? Hahahaahaha. That cracked me up. I hope someone dies soon too. *blindfolds herself and spins around* Eeeny meenie...  
  
fujifunmum: Nope, that was a -very- astute observation. The answer is as stated in the story. This "Final Secret" thing was something the old Okashira developed herself, and passed on to only one kunoichi. Ok, so I cheesed things a bit to make it all work, but, well...what can I do?  
  
IceRain: Europe? How cool!! I've never been out of the United States, personally.   
  
ione_girl: Oh man, if what you say is true, you are going to -hate- the end of this story. I apologize in advance. Hmmmmmm. I totally forgot about the terrible twos. *contemplates* Yes, I think Tsutomu's nickname may become Tsutomu the Terrible, very, very quickly.  
  
bobo3: Thanks SO much for letting me know the meaning of "Tsutomu". I like -all- of those definitions, and I think they are quite appropriately something that Saitou would name his son! So thank you for solving the mystery!  
  
Kaholione: I have heard of PeaceMaker Kurogane. I was able to procure one of the episodes off the net the other day, and it looks -great-. Okita is sooooo cute in this one, with his long hair and his pet pig. Chuckle. I can't wait to see more!  
  
Misao Mei Mei: Thanks again for the GREAT picture of Naoya. Sorry that there wasn't any more Misao in this chapter, but, she'll probably have a brief cameo in the last chapter of this story.  
  
_lone_wolf_236: Yeah, it always annoys me that Sango doesn't get to kick -more- ass. Speaking of Aoshi without his trenchcoat, I think that trenchcoat may have some sort of a life, eh? I thought about writing a story from Aoshi's trenchcoat's point of view, somewhat like "Wombat"'s story about Enishi's gloves but...well, who knows. Thanks again for reading and reviewing. And, I agree, Down With Seisouhen!  
  
tesuka- chan: I agree. Misao has a very mature side, when she wants to. Anyway, except for one time, Tokio never actually -said- anything in her sleep, she just moved her lips. So, I guess that is why Saitou could never figure out what she was saying. Thanks again for reading and reviewing. :D  
  
Veleda: Saitou SINGING? IN A LEATHER TEDDY? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR MIND. Ow ow ow ow. It hurts. It hurts me. Anyway, we probably won't be seeing Misao and Aoshi again. Well...except for...a brief cameo in the last chapter.  
  
darktenshi: What sort of hair gel -does- Saitou use. For that matter, what sort does -Chou- use? Chuckle. Can you imagine Snowflake getting caught in a tree? Saitou would probably just stand below while laughing, and say 'Damn cat. You can stay up there until you lose a few pounds.'  
  
LSR-7: I think the art contest will last until after January 5th, so if you get time, and inspiration, feel free to draw. If not, I promise, I won't be upset.  
  
caitlin: Sorry it took me so long to update this time. Long chapter, busy weeks. Anyway, I don't have the chapters completely written out anywhere but in my head, unfortunately. It would take too long, sadly, to go over everything which is real, and everything which is made up, but the appendix which I plan on posting when the story is finished, should cover most of that. Thanks again for reviewing.  
  
Cherry Delight: Did you really figure out that he was building the school? Damn, I wasn't sneaky enough. Anyway, I do plan on working on Hot and Cold, Hitokiri Stainmaster, and Sakabatou for Baka Saitou more, when I finish this story. ChiisaiLammy drew some -great- sketches of the Hot and Cold cast, and I can't wait to show them off when I post the next chapter of that story. Sorry I didn't get around to finishing "A Very Hachinisasareru Thanksgiving". Well, maybe next time.  
  
Animyth: I don't know why there are so many crossdressers in this story. It may be because my favorite comedian, Eddie Izzard, is a transvestite, and I listen to his comedy quite a bit while I am writing. As for Tsutomu, we'll see a bit of him as he gets older, as well as his brothers. Oh wait, I wasn't supposed to say that, since they aren't in the story yet. I haven't been inspired to do any stories for series other than RK and Inuyasha yet. Currently, I am watching Excel Saga and Ranma 1/2, and neither of those really lends themselves to the sort of writing I like to do, I think. Well, as always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope this chapter wasn't too much of a snoozer.  
  
Tenniyo: Naoya is, indeed, a character of my own creation. I'd tell you where her personality came from, but I'm not exactly certain. I think I stole from several sources. I based her drive to better herself off of Yahiko, I think, and her ferocious temper off of Misao's worst moods. Anyway, I get most of my information off of the internet. I'm the Master of the Yahoo-Google Ryu. I'll be posting most of my sources in the appendix to this story, after the epilogue. Thanks for reviewing! 


	21. Chapter 20: Two Years In Hokkaido

"I have the information you requested...about Saitou Hajime. He's in Hokkaido now. I couldn't get the details of his mission, but he's doing well." --Shinomori Aoshi to Himura Kenshin, Kenshin Kaden Special Insert  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 20 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kamiya Kaoru was experiencing a grand dilemma.  
  
She watched Kenshin in the yard as he cut dead branches off of the trees. It was one of the only times she'd ever seen him flip his sakabatou. Frankly, it was an exhilarating sight, watching her fiance leap from tree to tree, performing a strange sort of domestic aerial kata. Truly fascinating, the man she was to marry.   
  
But, watching him like this, one could easily imagine how terrifying he might have been long ago. Of course, Kaoru knew her beloved to be totally, and completely harmless. Yet, once upon a time, he struck fear into the populace of an entire city, if not the entire nation. And, once, long ago, he was married to the undoubtedly beautiful Yukishiro Tomoe.   
  
Not that Kaoru held any ill will towards Kenshin's former wife. No, because of his promise to Tomoe, Kenshin had never killed after the Revolution ended. And, because of Tomoe, somehow, Enishi had spared Kenshin's life. No, Kaoru just couldn't feel any ill will towards such a wonderful woman.   
  
Tomoe had been married to Kenshin, so that meant that they... Well, certainly, Tomoe had been a disciplined and lovely woman. Not a rambunctious dojo owner. A true lady in her own right, and not some orphan often called 'ugly' and 'hag' by an oft mean-spirited student.   
  
Still, Kenshin had asked Kaoru to marry him. They had gone to Kyoto and visited Tomoe's grave. And now...now the wedding was two days away and Kaoru...  
  
Well, she was experiencing a grand dilemma.  
  
Because Kenshin, having been married before, would know all about that most taboo of topics, a subject that Kaoru, could hardly even -think- about without blushing. Kaoru wasn't stupid. She knew what happened on a wedding night. Well, she had a vague idea. No, she was absolutely sure she had the basics straight.  
  
'Who am I kidding? I have no idea. Oh dear. I do not want to disappoint Kenshin. This is no good at all.'  
  
But, really, who was there to talk to about it? Yahiko and Sanosuke were out of the question, for being too young and too crass, respectively. Not to -mention- that they were male, and Kaoru couldn't even see herself being able to bring up the subject among men. Tae wasn't a married woman, and Tsubame would turn as red as a beet, even if she -did- happen to somehow have useful information. Megumi, as a doctor, would probably have the facts down. But, at the same time, she was Megumi. No, definitely not Megumi. That would just be something Kaoru would never be able to live down.  
  
So, really, there was only one viable choice.  
  
"Kenshin?"  
  
Kenshin stopped mid-swing and looked up from his task, his face mildly sweaty from the workout. "Yes, Kaoru-dono?"  
  
"I'm...I have a few errands to run. Would you mind starting dinner later if I'm not back in time?"  
  
"Yes, of course. But, should you wish sessha to accompany you, sessha would surely oblige."  
  
"No, no..." Kaoru replied, forcing her sweetest smile, "It's just boring stuff. For the wedding, and all. And you still have to clean up the yard, right? So, I'll see you later, okay?"  
  
As Kaoru left, Yahiko, who had been practicing his swings near the porch, turned to Sanosuke. The white-clad wearer of 'Aku' was greedily gobbling down breakfast leftovers. "What do you think -that- is all about, Sano? Kaoru has never turned down an offer to have Kenshin accompany her anywhere."   
  
Sanosuke shrugged. "I dunno. Women get all creepy and weird when they are going to get married."  
  
"-Women-? Have you been watching Kenshin all morning?"  
  
"Yeah, but better the trees than us, squirt."  
  
The walk didn't take long. Kaoru, having already decided on a course of action, decided it best not to brood on the matter. So, she filled her thoughts with other matters. The wedding wasn't to be a large affair, but, of course, Sanosuke had insisted on organizing an after-party. Misao and the other Oniwabanshuu would be coming from Kyoto, so that would be nice. Yahiko had asked Tsubame to be his date, and Tae latter told Kaoru it was 'Just about the cutest thing I've ever seen'. Even though the others had insisted to the contrary, Kaoru had invited the Saitous, Eiji, Okita-san, Naoya and Chou, to which Tokio-san had replied by letter that they were, unfortunately, previously engaged on the date in question. Kaoru hadn't really expected them to come, but thought it would probably be rude not to ask.  
  
Kaoru arrived more quickly than she had expected. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed open the gate to the Fujita house and stepped inside.   
  
"Ano...hello...um..."  
  
"Hello, Kaoru-san." Eiji, who had been sitting on the engawa, surrounded by several blocks of wood, looked up from his task. He held a small knife, with which he had been whittling and carving the wood, from the apparent amount of shavings, all afternoon. "What brings you here?"  
  
"Hello, Eiji-chan. I wished to speak to Tokio-san. Is she in?"  
  
"Sure. She's in the kitchen, probably. Do you want me to get her?"  
  
"No, I'll go in. Thank you, Eiji-chan."  
  
Kaoru slipped off her shoes and headed inside. The Fujita home was as she remembered, impeccably clean, almost -severely- clean. The dojo -never- stayed this clean, not even when she had everyone scrubbing from top to bottom. Kaoru had to wonder whose personality the house reflected most. Saitou certainly seemed like an organized person, perhaps even obsessively so. Whereas Kenshin didn't mind going about in a torn and oft-patched gi, Kaoru couldn't even imagine Saitou allowing his shirts to be anything less than pristine. But then, Tokio also bore a sort of immaculate cleanliness about herself. Kaoru couldn't picture Tokio ever donning a practice uniform and becoming sweaty and dirty.  
  
No, in this, at least, the pair of Saitou and Tokio seemed a perfect match. But, could a penchant for fastidious cleanliness really join two people? In so many other ways, the pairing seemed quite impossible. Then again, trying to imagine the perfect woman for the Wolf of Mibu proved more perplexing than trying to figure out Kenshin. Some things, Kaoru decided, would just always remain a mystery.  
  
"Tokio-san?" Kaoru rapped lightly on the shoji before entering. Inside, Tokio bustled around the kitchen. The apron covering her light green yukata bore not a single mark or smudge of food, even though, from the looks of it, she'd been cooking since sunrise.   
  
Yes, but she couldn't wield a bokken, now could she?  
  
The kitchen smelled divine, like sweet ginger, sugared carrots, and caramel. It reminded Kaoru of her own departed mother's cooking, of gently cool autumn days spent waiting by the shoji for the privilege of licking a bowl. Days when someone cared for her, instead of always having to be independent and alone. Just like she felt when Kenshin wrapped his arms around her shoulders...  
  
"Kaoru-san," Tokio replied, looking over her shoulder as she stirred a thick batter in a bowl, "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in. I'm afraid I'm most unprepared for company, I hope you will excuse the mess."  
  
Mess? What mess?  
  
'Mou, visiting with Tokio-san always feels like an exam at a school of charm and grace.'  
  
"Oh no, please excuse me for intruding. Eiji said I could find you here. I went by your shop yesterday, but the sign said you'd be closed for the week?"  
  
Tokio nodded as she added a spoonful of dark colored liquid to her concoction. "Yes. We've many preparations, you see. Naoya and Chou are to be married in a few days. I sent an announcement to your home..."  
  
Kaoru made a mental note to stop having Yahiko bring in the mail. "Oh, I'm sorry. How wonderful for them both, truly. I...I fear I've been a bit scatterbrained..."  
  
"Perfectly understandable. The second time Hajime and I were married, I broke three tea cups in the previous week, just trying to get them spotless. But, lets not tell Hajime about such things, if you would." Tokio smiled demurely as she added another dollop of sugar to the bowl.   
  
"Second time you were married?"  
  
"A very long and horribly boring story."  
  
"Oh." Kaoru fidgeted with her kimono sleeve for a few moments as she processed the information. She lived an odd life as a dojo's master, harboring an ex-yakuza pickpocket and a reformed assassin. But, Kaoru supposed, it did stand to reason that Tokio lived just as strange of a life. Procrastinating at coming to her point for the visit, Kaoru asked, "How is Tsutomu-chan?"  
  
"Quite well. He's sleeping in the other room." Tokio turned around, presenting a spoonful of her batter to Kaoru. "Won't you try this for me, Kaoru-san? Naoya picked quite a difficult menu for her marriage party. Everything is decidedly foreign. I do believe Naoya equates 'elaborate' with 'genteel'." Tokio smiled quietly. Despite her words, the shine of her eyes made it quite clear how proud she was of her young friend.  
  
"Mmm. It's so -sweet-," Kaoru said, licking the sticky batter from the spoon. "What is it called?"  
  
"Something I don't even deign an attempt at pronouncing," Tokio replied. "It is a sort of layered cake, from what I understand. Between us, this is the third attempt."  
  
Another uncomfortable silence took hold of the kitchen, and Kaoru took to fidgeting yet again, this time with the spoon in her hands. How -exactly- was one to bring up such a delicate subject? "Tokio-san, I especially hate to bother you, now that I know how busy you are. I suppose I should go..."  
  
"You could go, Kaoru-san, or you could stay and elaborate upon that question hidden behind your lashes."  
  
"How did you..."  
  
Tokio began to pour the batter into a circular pan. "You'll know, too, once you've been married to a man like the ones we've chosen for as long as I have. Come now, won't you tell me what is on your mind, Kaoru?"  
  
Out on the engawa of the Fujita home, Eiji was greeting yet another visitor. Except this one was overloaded with packages and sporting a decidedly uncharacteristic hairstyle.  
  
"Oi! Eiji, where's Tokio-san, eh?"   
  
"What happened to your hair, Naoya?"  
  
"Do you like it?" Naoya unceremoniously dropped all of her packages to dab daintily at her sweeping updo and accompanying hat. "It is quite fashionable in the West, so I hear."  
  
"It's...nice." After living with the Saitous for almost a year, Eiji found that polite lying was becoming much easier. "Tokio-san is inside, but.."  
  
"Wonderful!" With that, Naoya disappeared into the Fujita home, leaving all of her packages in Eiji's diligent care.   
  
The boy from Shingetsu merely shook his head and returned to his whittling, taking from inside his gi the figurine he had hastily hidden when Naoya arrived. "Now the hair is all wrong," Eiji murmured.  
  
"Ridiculous," a disembodied hiss replied. "Absolutely ridiculous the lengths women will go to please men."  
  
Eiji smiled, rapping on the engawa softly with his knuckles. "She just wants to be pretty for Chou, I suppose. Haven't you ever wanted to be pretty for someone, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
"No," the voice replied, "This Jikiri finds the concept revolting."  
  
The boy sighed and shook his head. "Well, I think you are pretty, even if you don't want to be."  
  
No reply came, and even Eiji, lacking any warrior training at all, could feel Jikiri brooding.  
  
"How long are you going to stay underneath the engawa, Jikiri-chan?"  
  
"Until this whole 'wedding' thing is over."  
  
A mischievous grin crossed Eiji's lips. "And what if I tell Okita-san where you are?"  
  
A sudden "thwok" caused Eiji to recoil as the tip of a kodachi burst through the slats of the engawa right in front of his left knee.   
  
"You wouldn't do that, now would you, Eiji-chan?"  
  
"Kuso!" Eiji exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the blade, "You could have taken off my leg, Jikiri-chan. I can't believe Okita-san let you have your kodachis back."  
  
"Thankfully for you," Jikiri replied as the blade disappeared back underneath the engawa, "This one doesn't kill children."  
  
As Eiji's heartbeat began to return to normal he made a definite resolution to get Jikiri to like him before he turned fifteen. It would be bad to become a man, only to turn around and have his manhood stolen by a psychotic mini-ninja.  
  
'Damn ninjas,' Eiji thought, 'Why'd they have to leave behind the -cute- one?'  
  
Inside the Fujita home, Naoya burst into the kitchen with a vociferous, "Oi, Tokio-san! Tokio-san, you have to see... Oh, hello Kaoru-san."  
  
"My goodness, Naoya," Tokio murmured, stepping away from her cooking to examine her friend's new coiffure, "Your hair is...exceedingly vivacious."  
  
"Do you like it?" Naoya asked, spinning around, "Do you think Chou will like it?"  
  
"I do believe the man has no problems with voluminous hairstyles."   
  
Kaoru held her tongue. Well, peacocks were birds of love, were they not? And judging by Naoya's hair, she had quite a bit of love just bursting from within her soul.   
  
"I'm glad you are here, Naoya." Tokio said, deftly changing the subject, "It will save me the trouble of having this talk twice."  
  
"Talk?"  
  
Tokio wiped her hands on her apron and ushered the two younger women into the next room. "Yes. We all need to have a bit of a discussion regarding your wedding nights."  
  
"But, Tokio-san," Naoya replied, sitting down next to the suddenly quiet Kaoru, "I already know all about that stuff, you know?"  
  
"Do you? Then perhaps you could inform Kaoru-san."  
  
Naoya pursed her lips and turned to the other bride-to-be. "Well, you see...you see...a man is...like a sword and...well..."  
  
Tokio clicked her tongue as she hid her smile. Naoya had obviously heard about Eiji's little talk with Hajime.   
  
Naoya tried a different approach, drawing from her previous employment at the railroads. "See, a man is like a train, and sometimes when it goes through a tunnel, the engine lets off some smoke. Got it, Kaoru-san?"  
  
Kaoru nodded in assent, but then retracted her sentiment and said, "No. I'm afraid I don't."  
  
Shaking her peacock-haired head Naoya groaned, "I guess I don't either."  
  
"Might I attempt, perhaps, Naoya?" Tokio asked.  
  
"Eh, I suppose so."  
  
Tokio brought out a plate of sakura mochi and placed it in front of the young women. She kneeled primly on the tatami, smoothing her yukata at the knees before beginning her speech.   
  
"The men you have chosen to marry are warriors. The fervor with which they fight will be nothing in comparison to the passion they will bring to the bedroom. But, you must not fear this battle. Nothing you can do will cause them to cherish you any the less."  
  
"A woman is born with all of the armor and weaponry she needs for such a war. The sweetness of her lips, the softness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, all of these can be used to bring even the strongest of men to his knees. And to his knees will he go, to worship you as the victor in the battle of his heart. Be gentle with him, my ladies, and with your body, so replete with weaponry, soothe him. Be not afraid to take in hand any stretch of flesh which catches your fancy. He may even beg for mercy from your touch, but in this battle you must give no quarter."  
  
"And at the junction of hip and thigh, you will join, to together seek the resolution of your adoration. As with any battle, pain is to be expected, but it will prove to be of little consequence in the face of your mutual exaltation. At that moment, you have only to look into his eyes to see the depths to which you have conquered him. You shall see, in that instant, that he is no longer a warrior, but a simple man who seeks no more than relief from the world, within the arms of a woman."  
  
"That is all that a wedding night is, it is the time where a man sheds his sword, and a woman takes up arms. There is only one small thing which you must remember."  
  
Kaoru and Naoya, eyes both riveted to Tokio's face simultaneously exclaimed, "What? What do you have to remember?"  
  
"You must remember to remove anything breakable from the room -beforehand-."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The wedding of Naoya and Chou proved to be quite an affair. The whole of Tokyo was talking about it for a week, though, not particularly because of the wedding itself.   
  
No. Because, on the day before the ceremony, Sawagejou Chou disappeared.   
  
"That ahou," Saitou had said when Tokio gave him the news, "When I find him, he's going directly to prison."  
  
"I didn't realize you cared, Hajime."  
  
"Like I want a crying rat-girl moping around my house for the next six months," he replied, grabbing his katana from where it lay against the wall. "Come on, Okita, lets go find the idiot. I may need someone to restrain me from beating him senseless."  
  
The two men found Chou easily. He'd signed up as a hired hand on a boat that was to leave for Shanghai the next day.   
  
"I can't marry Naoya. Fuck, she ain't got no business with a man like me. Ifin I leave now, there's still a chance for her to meet some guy what'll treat her proper. Someone who won't be off fuckin' gettin' hisself killed in sword fights. She deserves better'n me, anyhow."  
  
Apparently, after being knocked around a bit by Saitou, and being lectured extensively on 'honor towards women' by Okita, Chou changed his tune and returned with the pair.   
  
Upon arrival, he was summarily beaten with the end of a broomstick by his fiancee until he had apologized over six dozen times. He then presented the bride-to-be with a small jade necklace Okita had suggested they buy on the way back, and Naoya promptly forgave her wayward beau.  
  
The wedding itself was filled with much less drama. Due to extensive efforts by Tokio, everyone agreed that Naoya looked lovely, radiant, and perfectly ladylike. She wore a brilliant pink furisode with a white obi, and a headdress of flowers constructed by Eiji. Chou's long red coat had been replaced with a black one, and someone, likely Okita, had convinced the man from Kansai to cut the number of weapons he wore during the ceremony down to three.  
  
Tokio gave the bride a small trousseau along with a sturdy set of dinnerware. Saitou gave them nothing, but did apparently have a very long talk with Chou which reportedly included the words, "Good work. Take two weeks off. But return to duty immediately afterwards you lazy good-for-nothing ahou." Eiji presented the couple with a carved figurine depicting Naoya and Chou holding hands, which everyone thought was quite masterful, yet elicited a comment of "Ridiculous" from a tiny ex-ninja.  
  
But, the largest gift came from Okita, who took the pair aside and quietly informed them that since he and Jikiri were to be moving to a house behind the new University, the small house on Miraiyu street could belong to the newlyweds, if they so wished.   
  
"Seriously, Okita-san?" Naoya asked.  
  
"Well, yes. Have you seen Chou's flat? That place is so small, I'd be worried that you'd trip and slice your head open on one of his swords."  
  
"Are you calling me clumsy, Okita-san?"  
  
"Never, Naoya, never would I do such a thing. You're merely 'grace-challenged, ne?"  
  
What followed was a brief romp around the courtyard of the Fujita home wherein the new bride attempted, but failed, to beat Okita Souji senseless with a stray tree branch.  
  
Everyone agreed that the foreign food made by Tokio was divine, if a bit odd. Sometime during the evening, the bride and groom disappeared. Later, Okita picked Jikiri up out of a sleeping pile of children, and headed home, leaving only Saitou and Tokio on the engawa to look out over the destroyed courtyard.  
  
From behind, Tokio threaded her arms through her husband's and placed her cheek on his back. "What do you think, Hajime?"   
  
"I think that asshole would have done best to take an earlier ship to Shanghai."  
  
"Are you saying you're opposed to two people in love being married?"  
  
"No. I'm saying when he fucks it up, and he will fuck it up, it's going to be an egregious waste of my time to have to hunt him down and kill him."  
  
"Ah, of course," Tokio replied, slipping her hand into her husband's gi, "Because you don't want a crying rat-girl moping around your house for months on end."  
  
"No, Kitty," Saitou corrected, catching her hand, "Because if I don't find him first, explaining the broomstick wounds on his corpse will cause an annoying amount of paperwork."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Two months. Two months now and Jikiri hadn't left. Sure, she hadn't changed much, still spending her time scowling at everyone and everything, proclaiming quite vehemently that she could leave whenever she wanted and no -man- could stop her from doing so if she wished.   
  
But, she hadn't left. And she hadn't killed anyone.  
  
Okita decided to allow himself to consider it a mild victory.   
  
He had no idea what she did with her time. He had extended to her an invitation to come and help with his project, but Jikiri seemed mostly uninterested. He'd heard from Tokio that she occasionally showed up at Snowflake Sweets, where she would sit on the small porch, but yet refuse to make even the lightest of conversation. Tokio sometimes thought she caught Jikiri staring at the now-closed apothecary across the street, but anytime she did, Jikiri would immediately look away and mutter something under her breath.  
  
Other than that, her days remained a mystery to Okita. She'd return to their new home behind the University sometime in the evening, would eat whatever Souji cooked, and then would press herself into a corner and stare blankly into space. She didn't seem to take enjoyment in anything, which Souji found especially disheartening. And she never, ever, laughed.  
  
Jikiri didn't seem to sleep much, even now that she had her own room. A few times he'd found her, in the mornings, passed out from sheer exhaustion after days of insomnia in some random part of the house, the roof, underneath the engawa, in a tree, under his new western style desk, and most often, in the pantry. Nonetheless, he considered this better than when they had lived on Miraiyu street, before he'd given her back her kodachis. When she'd first arrived, she hadn't slept for four days straight, and on the fifth day, she tore up the house looking for her knives.   
  
After he'd retrieved them from their hiding spot (in the snake pit in the back yard), Jikiri had immediately strapped them to her chest and then proceeded to jump to the ceiling beams, where she passed out for the next thirty-six hours.  
  
The whole situation disturbed Okita greatly. But, he didn't wish to give up hope. So, he merely kept smiling, kept cracking jokes that seemly went unappreciated, kept attempting to show Jikiri kindness without forcing her to -do- anything. His plan would work. He resolved to have faith that anyone could, in time, be redeemed.   
  
"I think May is one of the more lovely months, don't you, Jikiri-chan? It stands directly on the precipice of summer, like a pearl diver, overlooking the bluest of blue waters, contemplating the possibility of a lucky swim."  
  
Jikiri merely wrinkled her nose in response and continued to voraciously devour her breakfast of rice and roe. At least she ate everything set in front of her, as if she believed tomorrow a famine would grip the land.  
  
"Such a wonderful day, I think I will go into town and see what can be seen. We've need of a few things, rice, and tea, and..."  
  
Jikiri interrupted, her mouth still full, "This Jikiri will accompany you."  
  
She will? Okita his surprise behind his ever-benevolent smile. "I would like that."  
  
"But, I will not walk behind you."  
  
They left only a few minutes later, a scowling little girl, arms crossed at her chest, beside a man who had never taken possession of a warrior's stature. Okita noticed how she placed her steps, so lightly that they could not even be heard. A true ninja, indeed, but surely a child as well. Surely somewhere, deep within, she still retained some vestige of her innocence.  
  
He believed it.   
  
If she could not find happiness, then what hope was there for him?   
  
"Have you ever seen a sky so brilliant, Jikiri-chan? Why, I remember in the days of the Revolution, when I spent my life within the nighttime, I so craved such a sky. Sometimes I would sit on the porch of the Shinsengumi headquarters and just wait, wait for sunrise. But, invariably, before the sun could rise and drench the sky in hues of gold, I'd always fall asleep. They say men who have killed so many have problems with nightmares, but I never did. Death never haunted me quite so much as life." Okita chuckled as the pair made their way down a winding path of stone steps overgrown with the late springtime's weeds.  
  
He was surprised to hear the small voice by his side, suddenly no longer aloof and dripping with threats. "You killed many, Okita-san?"  
  
"Yes. Many."  
  
"Bad men?"  
  
"No," Okita replied, looking to the sky overhead as a flock of birds settled in a tree. "Mostly good men. Good men who fought a good fight."  
  
"This Jikiri doesn't believe you can't be sad about that." The little girl peered quizzically at the man by her side as he pushed through some brush and stepped aside to allow her through. "She thinks you've been fooling yourself a long time."  
  
"I am a fool, it is true. But not in this. Look at this age, Jikiri. Look at all the wonderful things within it. The smiles of the people, the happiness of my friends. I could be overwrought with sadness, but to what end? The men I killed will never return. I must be happy to have fought them, I must be happy that the age for which they so fervently battled came to pass. If I were not, how would I live in such an age?"  
  
The pair came to the edge of an expansive field, one filled with giant boulders and weeds that would have dwarfed Jikiri. The sunlight illuminated the stalks as they bent back and forth in the breeze, taking on the shape of the wind. A lone bird of prey soared overhead, circling the field in which one figure stood, his red hair glinting the color of rusted metal. At his hip, his hand lay calmly on the hilt of a sword now legendary among those who knew the truth of his identity.  
  
Himura Battousai and the sakabatou.  
  
Okita quietly grabbed Jikiri's hand and pulled her aside, bending to hide behind a nearby rock.  
  
The fact that the ever-present smile had slipped from her mentor's face alerted Jikiri to the possible danger. Her hands began to slip inside her gi, seeking out her weapons as she prepared for battle, but she found her movement stopped by two crushing fists locked on her wrists.  
  
It startled her. Okita...was a lot stronger than he looked. Before she could gasp in surprise, he had placed both of her wrists in one hand and used the other to cover her mouth.  
  
"You mustn't draw," he whispered, slowly removing his hand from Jikiri's mouth. "He'll know."  
  
"But...who is he?"  
  
Okita put a finger to his lips and peered around the rock, letting his senses tentacle out towards the other man. Himura? But, what was he doing here?  
  
Okita imbued his own ki with a sense of peace as he alerted the other man to his presence. In return, Himura's head nodded only slightly. Okita continued to probe the rurouni's ki, seeking answers to the meaning behind the odd situation.  
  
He was waiting. Waiting for a battle. And...no...that couldn't be right. Okita had never felt -that- within Battousai's ki before.  
  
He was nervous. He was nervous and worried. But not that he would fail, no, Himura was afraid because...  
  
This would be his last battle, his last true swordfight against an enemy...  
  
Ah. Okita understood.  
  
Jikiri tugged at the fist still encircling her wrists in order to get her mentor's attention. "Who is he, Okita-san?"  
  
Looking down at the girl, Okita watched the confusion cloud her brown eyes. She could feel it too, even if she couldn't put a name to it. The static in the air, the powerful ki of a warrior who would forever refuse to yield.  
  
"That, Jikiri-chan, is a swordsman."  
  
As he released her hands, Jikiri turned to the side, peering around the rock. "Yes yes, this Jikiri can see such. But, what is he doing?"  
  
"He is waiting to fight an old enemy because of a promise he made."  
  
"You, Okita-san?"  
  
"No." Okita felt his heart sink. No. He would never have the chance to fight Himura Battousai. And yet, Okita knew he no longer needed to fight. He no longer needed to die in glorious battle, to leave behind a legacy which would make a dead brother proud, and forever seal the supremacy of a group long since disbanded.   
  
Souji didn't need to fight anymore.  
  
He had other, more important things, in his life now. It was time to look to the future, instead of to the past. To care for the little girl who needed his wisdom, and to guide the students who would build a new Japan.  
  
He wasn't Okita Souji, swordsman. He was Okita Souji, teacher.  
  
"No. I've fought him several times already."  
  
"Did you win, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita smiled as he pulled Jikiri to her feet. He dusted off her gi and hakama, and was amazed when she didn't flinch at his touch. "No, Jikiri-chan. No one wins when they fight the Hitokiri Battousai."  
  
Jikiri's eyes grew round as her head swung to the side to get another look at the man standing immobile in the field. "Is he? Is he really the legendary Hitokiri Battousai?"  
  
Okita's lips pressed together as he closed his eyes. "Him? No, I'm afraid he isn't. He's just a simple rurouni. Let us come away now. We've disturbed him long enough."  
  
Jikiri nodded, suddenly so perplexed that she forgot to scowl. In fact, she forgot to be a ninja, and instead, just placed her tiny hand in Okita's and allowed him to lead her away.  
  
'I wish you luck, Himura. And I wish you happiness. But, whatever the outcome, I understand. You can not worry for the future until you have set aside the past. It is a good thing you are doing, to finish this before the child is born. A good thing, indeed.'  
  
"Okita-san?"  
  
"Hm?" Okita felt the tug on his hand which brought him out of his musings. His eyes fell upon a face that sparkled, if only for a moment, with innocent childishness. "Yes?"  
  
"This Jikiri still does not like men, no no. But..." Jikiri wrinkled her nose as she squinted, "She thinks you might be alright. Besides, you do look rather like a girl sometimes."  
  
Okita squeezed her hand as he replied, "And you pass quite easily for a boy in that gi and hakama, hm?"  
  
"Yes. It is so. We make quite a pair, do we not?"  
  
"We do, indeed." As they turned away from the field and headed towards town, the young woman at Okita's side asked one more question.  
  
"Do you think this Jikiri might someday be pretty, even if she looks rather like a boy?"  
  
"No, Jikiri," he replied, sweeping the girl into his arms and tossing her onto his shoulders, "I think you are already quite beautiful." He took off down the road, reveling in the feel of the sun at his back, and the breeze on his face. "Now. Let us go to Tokio's shop, where we can be fed sweets until we are as round as sumo wrestlers. That's us. What do you think, Jikiri-chan, could we be the world's first midget sumo team? "  
  
Okita puffed out his cheeks with air as he looked up into the face of a girl...  
  
Who was now laughing.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I despise May."  
  
Saitou squinted as he peered out the window of his office. To tell the truth, he couldn't think of any months he didn't hate. And he certainly couldn't think of any day he loathed more than today.  
  
Two letters. One he had been waiting for since the defeat of Shishio Makoto, and one he'd not expected. Both of them equally as infuriating.  
  
Down in the courtyard, Himura nodded, turned, and left.  
  
Chou, who had been sitting on the desk just like he had been told -not- to do, looked over Saitou's shoulder, catching a glimpse of the retreating rurouni as his boss clenched his fist around the second of the two letters.  
  
"What'sat then? Letter from Battousai? Some sort of thank-you note or somethin'?"  
  
"Read it yourself, ahou," Saitou replied, chunking the paper at Chou.   
  
Chou, who had been scratching at his nose with the end of a sword fumbled the catch and ended up bleeding from the left nostril. Ignoring the blood, he opened the letter and attempted to puzzle out the words. "Let's see then. Hey...this is...this is..."  
  
"Hn. Amusing, is it not? But this is no time for jokes. He's finally issued his challenge." Saitou sat down at his desk removing the other letter from the pile of papers directly behind Chou.   
  
"Shit. This is for today!"  
  
"Aa. Today. And get your lazy ass off my desk."  
  
Chou complied, wiping at his bloody nose with the back of his sleeve. "Well, do you think you can win?"  
  
"I know that -he- can not. If he kills me, he loses. If he does not kill me, he dies. Unlike Shishio, I have no time limit, and unlike Enishi, I am perfectly sane."  
  
"Uh, yeah. Whatever. I'm going home for dinner. Naoya's done cooked me a fuckin' whole chicken. Now, that's a fuckin' -man's- meal. Not that you would know a damn thing about it, you skinny ass vegetarian bast..."  
  
Chou found a katana at his neck, and the Wolf of Mibu glaring at him from across the desk. "Not a word about this letter to your wife...or, for that matter, my wife. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, just point that thing somewheres else, okay?"  
  
Saitou re-sheathed his sword and sat back down. He fingered his right temple gingerly as he fished around in his pocked for a cigarette. "I have a mission for you, Chou."  
  
"But...what about dinner?"  
  
"If you mention that foul stench your wife calls food one more time, I swear, I will have no qualms about skewering you and baking you over an open fire -myself-." Lighting his cigarette, Saitou's eyes narrowed. Damn. Well, he trusted Chou...slightly. The man would find out soon enough anyway, so might as well put him to work on the one task that needed to be done. "This mission is of the utmost importance. I need you...to buy a cat."  
  
"A...cat...Boss?"  
  
"Don't say a word, Chou. Not a goddamn word. Now get out of my office. I'm tired of looking at you."  
  
Chou, thankfully, did as he was told, leaving Saitou to his thoughts.   
  
There was a time when he didn't have to kick people out of his office. And there was a time when his home wasn't filled with noise. With an orphaned boy from Shingetsu, constant visits from annoying rat-girls, crippled swordsmen, ex-ninjas, and the piercing cries of a baby.  
  
There was a time when it was just him. And Tokio's ever-silent downcast gaze.  
  
But this, was this bad? Was it...good? Or merely, just unexpected. This certainly hadn't been what he had foreseen so many years ago. For so many people to come into his life seemed incredibly incongruent. He was the untouchable and ineffable Wolf of Mibu. His sword could be halted neither by pleas for mercy nor by the highest authority. In the deepest corridors of night, his sword paved the way, not for peace, but for honor, courage, and loyalty. For the core of what Japan would need if she were to survive in an era of opium and guns and foreign politics.   
  
Yes. Fighting to keep her foes at bay during the Meiji era had proven much more difficult than doing so during the Revolution. At least, during a war, identifying your enemy is fairly easy.  
  
Enemy. Friend. Evil. Good. How horribly the line could be blurred in the blink of an eye. And yet, one only had to worry about the instant in which judgment called for action. When good men turned evil, they had to be brought to justice. And when evil men attempted to redeem themselves...  
  
They still had to be brought to justice.  
  
Aku. Soku. Zan. It knew no memory, it granted no future. His creed lived only in the moment of execution.   
  
'Why? Why would you do it? Why would you betray everything in which we believed?'  
  
Saitou peered down at the less crumpled of the two letters, at a name long since put aside. He'd grown inured at seeing the names of supposedly dead men written again, bringing to life men who had long since been consigned to memory's graveyard. Okita had done so. Himura. And Shishio. No one ever died and stayed properly dead anymore.  
  
And then the other letter. Battousai's challenge.   
  
Battousai.  
  
Two fights. One he never imagined would come to pass, and one for which he had longed.  
  
Right now, somewhere beyond the borders of the city, Himura was waiting.   
  
Himura.  
  
Not Battousai.  
  
So, what was the point in fighting him? Fighting this rurouni, this shadow of a shadow of a warrior. What would be gained? Would Japan benefit? No, the rurouni was no threat, this Saitou knew. He'd not even seen a flicker of the volcano's wrath since that day in the dojo. Not fighting Shishio, not fighting Enishi. Oh, certainly, he did not believe Battousai had perished from Himura's soul. There just...weren't any threats large enough to draw out the old assassin. Or, perhaps, nothing interested Battousai in this world anymore. Perhaps, after so long, even the lust for blood wasn't enough to call him to the surface.  
  
Who knew, really, besides Himura himself?  
  
So, what -was- the point of fighting him? To settle some old score for his comrades? No. The Shinsengumi were defeated and disbanded, and unlike Shinomori, he had no desire to prove himself.   
  
Revenge? Revenge for what? Battousai hadn't killed Tokio's parents. And besides, Saitou didn't believe in fighting for vengeance. To do so was to be led by emotions.  
  
So, why fight him? In essence, the concept proved meaningless, a waste of time.   
  
The rurouni wasn't worth it.  
  
Yes. That was the answer. It had nothing to do with the fact that they were now both married men. Or that they both had people who needed them, kids like Yahiko and Eiji who needed guidance, sons like Tsutomu and whatever might be brewing inside of Kaoru.  
  
He'd killed men with larger families before.  
  
So, no, it had nothing to do with a wish to spare Himura's strange little family, or his own. Compassion played absolutely no part in his choice.  
  
None whatsoever.  
  
Saitou hardly noticed as the sun began to set beyond the window at his back. He paid no attention as stars popped into the gradually darkening night sky, or when the moon took its place among the lazy rooftops of the city of Tokyo.  
  
He could only stare at the name on the letter to his right.  
  
Harada.  
  
That ahou.  
  
Why couldn't it be another name? Some name he did not know. Anyone. Japan was full of miscreants. Why couldn't it have been someone else?  
  
Of course, if it had been someone else, the Police Commissioner would not have sent -him- this memo. They would have called someone else into action, someone closer in physical location, or they may have even asked Himura.   
  
For once, Saitou felt vaguely satisfied that Okubo had died. If he hadn't, then the old fool would have asked Okita. After Yamanami, Okita had been...well, he hadn't been crushed. But, tracking down the traitor and presenting him to Hijikata for his sentence had certainly brought Okita anguish, though he did his best to hide it well. If Okita had let Yamanami go, who would have blamed him, really? They were friends since their days in the Shieikan dojo in Mibu. No one would have questioned an explanation of "He simply eluded my capture" from the First Captain of the Shinsengumi.  
  
No. Okita could definitely not know about this. If he did, he'd want to go along to try to talk some sense into Harada. And he'd probably end up getting himself killed. Okita -could not- know.  
  
Which meant that Tokio couldn't know either.   
  
No one could know. He couldn't chance it getting back to Okita. Souji could play stupid all he wanted, but Saitou knew that even if the man's sword skills had waned, he still had a mind sharper than any katana ever forged. If anyone knew, Okita would be able to sense it, and get it out of them. He could be a devious little fucker when he wanted.  
  
And what about Chou? No. The sword collector lacked tact, subtlety. This operation would prove exceedingly delicate.   
  
Who then? He needed someone as backup. Someone with a strong mind, someone who owed him something, or who could be -made- to owe him something, and who could be trusted to keep their mouth shut. He needed someone just in case he...no. He wouldn't even permit himself to think of that. But, betraying his mission, betraying the Meiji Government...  
  
No. He wouldn't do it. But, just in case, just in case even his strong sense of morality could be swayed...  
  
He needed someone to help protect Japan from -him-.  
  
He was, after all, a man who prepared for all possibilities.  
  
Saitou took out file after file, ignoring the growing gloom of night beyond the window of his office.  
  
Who? Who would be a decent assistant?  
  
Saitou turned around abruptly, catching the sound of a whisper as a tendril of the night breeze slipped in between the cracks of his window and rustled some papers. In doing so, he knocked a pile of files to the floor.  
  
And laying there, on the top, were the old Juppon Gatana documents. And one in particular caught his eye.  
  
Yes.  
  
That would work well enough.  
  
Saitou picked up the file and slid it underneath the letter on his desk. Once again, the name snagged his glance.  
  
Harada. Harada Sanosuke.  
  
Officially, Harada had died in the Ueno War as part of the Shogitai. Officially. Because no one really cared to track down the good-natured spear-wielder. No, that wasn't true. No one wanted to kill him, because of how many of his men remained. He had engendered the loyalty of his Troop unlike any other, except, perhaps, for Okita. But whereas Okita had inspired awe and a near fanatical devotion, Harada had cared for his men almost to a fault. He'd give them leave when he was able, set up for special doctors for the sick, even arrange for their families to be moved to safer places when the fighting came too close to their villages. He knew the names of ever mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, and childhood friend of his men.   
  
And yet, he was a man prone to drinking, to carousing, a man unafraid to show his weaknesses, and because of that, his soldiers identified with him.   
  
He was a very good man. And a complete idiot.  
  
Okita Souji had been almost worshipped, but Harada Sanosuke had been genuinely loved. For the Meiji Government to try to kill him would have proven a rather large mistake.  
  
So, officially, he died in the Ueno War. But in reality, Saitou knew now, Harada was allowed to escape to Manchuria. He had lived there, quietly, for the past ten years.  
  
Until two months ago.  
  
And then three ships, all bearing the same description as the Rengoku, started attacking the northwestern coast of Hokkaido. The flag ship, Shikiko, had over two dozen cannons, and alone had already laid siege to eight villages on the northernmost part of the island.  
  
Shikiko's captain, who commanded unwavering loyalty from his men...was now known to be a man named Harada Sanosuke.  
  
Had Yukishiro Enishi sought him out on purpose? Had their meeting been by chance? How had Harada come into possession of Enishi's famed ships? Whatever happened, it certainly came to pass before Himura and Enishi fought. Since that time, Yukishiro's assets had been seized. There was no way he could have regrouped and raised the funds for three ships in such a short amount of time.   
  
No, something else entirely had been put into action here.  
  
Why would a man like Harada do such a thing?  
  
Of course, that was the crux of the matter, was it not? That was why the Meiji Government would choose him, Saitou Hajime, for this mission.  
  
And that was why, he knew, he'd have to go to Hokkaido.  
  
"HEY!"  
  
Saitou whirled around to find Chou leaning against the door. How long had -that- idiot been there? How long had he been trying to get Saitou's attention? If he couldn't sense a damn ahou rattling around with a half-dozen swords strapped to his body, he must really be getting rusty.  
  
"Why are you here at this time of night, ahou?" Saitou asked, quickly shuffling his papers out of view.  
  
"Well, lets see. I got sick of this spy stuff, and thought I'd just grab all your money and run." Chou rolled his eyes as he plopped down on the corner of the desk. "No! It's past time for your showdown with Battousai! If ya don't get goin'..."  
  
"Who told you I was going to accept the challenge?"  
  
Chou's face scrunched up in confusion, which, frankly, didn't make him any better or worse looking than normal. "What?"  
  
"The man I wanted to settle with, Hitokiri Battousai, is no more. A wolf is a wolf. A Shinsengumi is Shinsengumi. I had thought a hitokiri was a hitokiri, but I was wrong." Saitou turned around in his chair and opened the window, letting the night air suck away the smoke from his ever-present cigarette. Was a Shinsengumi still a Shinsengumi? The situation with Harada made him wonder if that principle remained true. And if it were to fall by the wayside, then it seemed unlikely that the third, and final statement would be unwaveringly true. Was a Wolf...still a Wolf?  
  
Above all things unsettling, it was annoying to be proven wrong.  
  
"But, Himura Kenshin and Hitokiri Battousai are the same person, right? I don't fuckin' get it."  
  
"You don't need to understand. Settling with a hitokiri that doesn't kill wouldn't mean anything to me." Saitou glanced to the side as he crushed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. Chou looked as dumb as a fucking rock. "That's all."  
  
A sudden gust of wind pushed through the open window, scattering papers around the office, creating a blizzard of square sheets. Nature's sudden announcement of her presence startled Chou slightly, but Saitou barely noticed.  
  
"It's grown cold..."  
  
Chou shrugged as he dislodged a piece of paper which the wind had cause to become stuck in his hair. "Huh? Well, yeah. I guess so."  
  
Somewhere, beyond the police courtyard, beyond the city limits of Tokyo, that damned rurouni was still waiting. His hand on his sakabatou, his eyes searching the level field. Waiting for a battle that had no meaning...  
  
And somewhere, far beyond the skyline, beyond the shores of the Sea of Japan, Harada was, even now, holding the key to a mystery that plagued Saitou. An enigma now far more interesting than the confused mind of a moronic rurouni would didn't even own a proper katana.  
  
Harada.  
  
Saitou's brows knit in consternation as his pupils became pinpoints of black. "You fool."  
  
"Aw, Boss, why you gotta always call me a fool? I ain't useless, you know. If you don't start treatin' me better, I'm gonna take that cat back t'where I found it."  
  
Saitou looked up, allowing his expression to soften so infinitesimally that none but the most observant (of which Chou was not) would have been able to discern the difference. "You brought the cat?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Good."  
  
He was going to need that cat.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kenshin stared up at the stars overhead as his left palm wrapped around the pocketwatch. Even though the chill of the night air numbed his hand, he could feel every tick as the second hand passed each mark. It seemed as if time itself had a heartbeat.   
  
The stars. What was it that Okita-san had said to him the night Tsutomu was born?  
  
"The stars, hm? One must wonder if they despise their fate. Once born, they can never be anything else, never change. It seems cruel that the cosmos never gives them any choice in the matter. At least, as men, we have the ability to control our own destinies."  
  
As men, we have the ability to control our destinies.  
  
Okita was wrong. Saitou wasn't as unchanging as the stars. His justice, his philosophy of 'Aku. Soku. Zan.' had to grow, it had to adapt. If it had been unable to do so, Saitou would have never been able to live this far into the Meiji Era.  
  
As men, we have the ability to control our destinies.  
  
'All we have to do, is make the decision. The decision of who we take as friends, as lovers. The decision of what we will hold onto, and what we will let go. The decision of which battles to fight, and which ones...  
  
Just no longer matter.'  
  
It was ten minutes past midnight.  
  
Kenshin took his right hand off the hilt of the sakabatou, gave a parting smile to the nighttime sky...  
  
And headed home.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He found Tokio in the front room, asleep. She hadn't waited up, he knew, she'd just fallen asleep while doing some mending. Since the defeat of the Hachinisasareru, Tokio had been dozing off quite a bit. Though now, now she no longer talked silently, and endlessly, in her sleep. However, she did occasionally say things, these days, which had nothing to do with strange ninja fighting techniques.  
  
He missed the way she babbled in her sleep. Not for sentimental reasons, but because it made it easy to tell that she was alive. Sleeping this soundly, she could have been mistaken for a corpse.  
  
Of course, it probably didn't help that she now had a baby to look after, not to mention Eiji. She'd planned a wedding. She ran her own business. She kept their home. No wonder she was tired.  
  
"...eat more...please eat..."  
  
She tried to feed people even in her sleep.  
  
Saitou scowled at the cat peering at him from its pile of pillows in the corner. Snowflake let out an annoyed hiss and flexed his claws into the thick fabric. If he were a less stoic man, a man like Souji prone to speaking to animals, he would have informed the feline that he had no qualms about running it through.   
  
He hated that damn cat. Nuisance. Moody, fat, nuisance.  
  
Saitou finished his cigarette on the engawa and stepped inside. At the sound of the shoji closing, Tokio awoke. She said not a word, and quickly stood, pushing her hair from her face, to tend to her husband.  
  
Not a word.  
  
Not "Is it late?"  
  
Not "Are you hungry?"  
  
Not "Guess what Tsutomu did today."  
  
Not "Oh my, I fell asleep again?"  
  
Just silence, a silence neither indicative of a bad mood or a good one. Such was Tokio. At the end of the day, the small things dissolved into nothingness. She stopped being a shop's proprietor. She stopped being a caretaker of house and home, and merely became, once again, the very mysteriously quiet woman whom he had married.  
  
Tokio took his gloves, cap, and overshirt, as she had done so many times in the past. By the time she finished putting them away, she knew, his katana would lay against the wall, and he would be sitting at the table, thumbing through the newspaper that she had picked up that morning in the marketplace. Tokio next would tend to tea, attempting to find some bit of food to accompany the warmth of the hukamushi. She'd set it before him, pouring the bitter tea evenly to insure that the dregs would stay at the bottom of the pot. Pouring a half-cup for herself, Tokio would then slice a small section of ginger to place in her cup to cut the astringency of the cloudy drink.  
  
Such were the way that things went in the Saitou household.   
  
So, Tokio knew that when she returned with the tea, and her husband was not reading the newspaper, but instead standing once again in the re-opened doorway, smoking, his katana still at his hip, something was amiss.  
  
She placed the tea on the low table and stood, peering through the flickering lamplight at her husband's back.  
  
"How soon, Hajime?"  
  
"As soon as possible."  
  
Tokio's hand slipped beneath her scarf. It had suddenly grown so cold, and only the warmth of the skin at her neck would keep her fingers from becoming numb. Biting the inside of her lip, Tokio knelt at the table, beginning to pour the tea. Yes, focusing on a task she knew so well would certainly help. Leaving. Again. She hadn't permitted herself to think of the possibility since Tsutomu had been born. 'Was I so selfish as to think his fight would end merely because he was now a father? No, but I...perhaps naively hoped that it would at least diminish to some degree.'  
  
"Won't you have tea before you go, Hajime?"  
  
Her husband didn't immediately answer. Instead, he seemed to be staring at the hand holding the cigarette, examining it for some sign, probing it with a stern gaze that Tokio couldn't comprehend.   
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Saitou's deep, yet crisp voice sliced through the night.  
  
"This will be the last time, Tokio. After this, I am merely a policeman."  
  
Tokio felt her breath catch as she stood and took several steps forward, her feet moving without the power of her mind. "My katana will never rest, and I will protect Japan with it until my dying day, but I will do so as a member of the police, and not as the Wolf of Mibu."  
  
As she finally reached him, each step seeming as if she had crossed miles, Tokio slid her hand from her scarf and wrapped her fingers around her husband's upper arm. "I can't say that I understand, Hajime. But, I know these arms. They are strong, and know not the meaning of error. Wherever they go, whatever tasks you put them to, I know that the man who wields them has not changed, even if the times and circumstances around him have."  
  
Saitou glanced down at the woman peering around his arm. He'd long ago reconciled himself, as had she, to the possibility that one day he would not return. No matter how strong the swordsman, or how clever or devious the mind, men died. Be it by the blade or by other devices, each man, in time, met his end. No, dying was -not- the problem.   
  
But, what if he did not return...simply because he had failed in his mission? No. Failure was not an option, it was never an option, and doubting himself in this matter would certainly lead only to peril. But Harada was a good man, and Saitou felt certain that he would not turn against Japan lightly. During the days of the Revolution, Saitou had killed many a traitor to the Shinsengumi. But, if a hitokiri was not unto death a hitokiri, and a Shinsengumi not forever Shinsengumi...  
  
Then what was Harada betraying?  
  
And what if, when he finally found Harada...just what if...Harada's fight proved honorable?  
  
No. He would not indulge himself in such nonsensical fantasies.  
  
Because if they turned out to be true, the likelihood of returning to Tokio's side was nil.  
  
"I have never seen you look sad before, Hajime," Tokio whispered. The concept frightened her more than any of her husband's rages by far. But, the way his head dipped forward, the way his eyes seemed to cloud over with before unknown doubt, gripped Tokio with a fear so deep she worried her hands would tremble.  
  
The odd expression on Saitou's face disappeared as soon as Tokio remarked upon it, to be replaced immediately by an aloof sneer. "Don't let motherhood make you feeble, Tokio. I've never heard such a ridiculous statement."  
  
"Yes," Tokio echoed blankly, "Ridiculous." As she leaned her head against his wiry arm she asked, "Can you tell me anything?"  
  
"No." He resisted the urge to grip her shoulders and pull her to his chest. Such an action and she would suspect something. She might even begin to worry. And Tokio was not a woman built for worry. "Go pack my things, Tokio. It's annoying to have you clinging to my arm."  
  
Tokio nodded, extricating herself from her husband and disappearing soon after into the back of the house.  
  
He almost wished she would have refused...to let go.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I don't know where he is going, so choosing what to pack seems futile. It doesn't matter, I know. Hajime needs little more than a clean uniform and his katana but..."  
  
What if where he was going wasn't even in Japan? What if he was going someplace desolate? Some place cold? Somewhere rainy? Or maybe a place where the weather made no difference but cities smelled putrid? He could be going anyplace, really, but no matter where it was, it would not be here.  
  
Tokio folded her husband's extra gloves and placed them on the top of the rest of his things in the bag. Pulling the ties shut, she lifted it and brought it to the front room, noting that it weighed little more than her own son.   
  
Quietly, she placed it by his feet and stepped back. The night air wafting through the shoji felt so frigid, strange for a summer's night. Stars always burned brighter in the cold, for what reason, Tokio never knew. Perhaps they wished to communicate the idea of warmth to the people who looked upon them. Or, perhaps, they merely attempted to stave off becoming overwrought with the bitter and extinguishing chill for themselves.  
  
But the coolness seemed to come more from her husband than from the night, as if his mere countenance could defeat the summer heat. Would he say nothing? No further explanation into the declaration he made earlier? Would he give her no insight, not even a passing insult to let her know that all would be well?  
  
Without turning, he bent to lift the bag. Tokio could hear the fabric of his gloves crackle with friction as his fist closed around the wooden handle. Then he was stepping forward, his western shoes making slick 'thip' sounds against the engawa.   
  
Would he really? Would he...  
  
Tokio rushed forward, grabbing the edge of the shoji as her husband made his way down the path towards the gate. Above him, the half-moon hung in the sky, as if some passing swordsman had sliced it in twain, the less hearty side floating down to a silent grave just beyond the horizon.   
  
Would he go there, to where the moon lay dying? To where the snow usurped the land in white mourning clothes for the death of the sky?  
  
Would he go without...  
  
"Hajime!"  
  
He stopped, exhaling smoke as he turned his head only ever so slightly. She couldn't see his eyes, only the line of his jaw as it caught the light of the moon. "Aa?"  
  
"You...you didn't say..."  
  
And then, it happened. He turned around. He'd never turned around before. Never looked back. Ever. Tokio's entire body became frozen, riveted to the spot. No. He wasn't supposed to turn around. It meant...it meant...  
  
The way his bangs lay, she could not see his eyes, and yet found this her only comfort as he stood in the yard, facing their home. "Will you wait for me, Tokio?"  
  
"Yes, Hajime. I always will."  
  
"Then, I will...return."  
  
As he resumed his journey, Tokio's legs gave way. On her knees, she pulled the shoji closed before collapsing to the floor, unable to see even her hands as she covered her face, hiding her tears from whatever spirits remained dormant in the front room of the Fujita home.  
  
It wasn't so much that he had turned around, or even that he had forgotten to say the words they always uttered upon parting. What brought the most devastation to Tokio's soul was the fact that when he finally said it...  
  
He just didn't sound certain.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The next morning, two packages were delivered by young policeman to the Fujita home.   
  
The first was addressed to Mishima Eiji, and contained the full total of his brother's pension, as well as a letter. It read:  
  
Eiji,  
  
It is into your care I leave my wife and Tsutomu. Although you are not my son, you are a young man with whom I know I can entrust my entire family. Guard them well.  
  
Fujita Goro  
  
The second was addressed to Fujita Tokio, and contained a kitten with blue eyes and fur the color of snow.  
  
It was promptly named 'Midnight'.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hokkaido. The frontier land. Far from the centers of politics and culture in Kyoto and Tokyo, it lay still largely untamed by the Meiji government. Besides the city of Hakodate in the south, little had been developed on the island. Progress, however, seemed to be fast arriving. Grand plans were in the works for the trading post of Sapporo, and already a tracks were being laid to construct a railroad from the port town of Otatu.   
  
And yet, in the north, villages which sat upon the Sea of Othotsk lay encrusted half the year with ice floes. The native peoples there, the Ainu, resented both the slow usurpation of their lands, and the pressure to take up the Japanese culture and language. They had lived fairly isolated lives, even under the Matsumae feudal clan, and now were being forcibly dragged into the new era.  
  
To the Meiji government, Hokkaido, formerly Ezochi, stood as a great untapped natural resource. A resource they were determined to soon fully control.  
  
But control was not yet complete.  
  
Towards this goal, the Tonhen-hei were formed. A deluge of former samurai had immigrated to Hokkaido after the last decade's wars. In Hokkaido, they believed, they could find work, and live relatively useful and satisfying lives. The Meiji Government, seeking to control both the samurai and, through them, the land, created the Tonhen-hei, a class of farmer-warriors who not only cultivated the land, but would provide defense, if needed.  
  
The Tonhen-hei.  
  
Saitou closed the file in his lap and looked out the window of the carriage as he passed through the 0streets of Hakodate. The Tonhen-hei wore distinctive uniforms, so it wasn't hard to pick them out from the city's residents. But, even without their uniforms, he would have been able to discern the difference. Even if a hitokiri was not always a hitokiri, nor a Shinsengumi always Shinsengumi, samurai were samurai until the day they died.  
  
While the thought gave him brief satisfaction, it didn't take much to discern that somehow the Tonhen-hei likely figured into Harada's plan.  
  
"Why would you want to go to Abashiri, sir? It is like going to the end of the earth, there is nothing there but snow and the sea and..."  
  
"If you continue to question me further, I'll have you stationed in Abashiri for the next twenty years."   
  
The young aide sitting across from Saitou gulped audibly and decided to mind his own business.  
  
"How large is the Tonhen-hei?" Saitou asked.  
  
"Here in Hakodate? Not very."  
  
"And beyond?"  
  
"Most of the smaller new settlements are controlled directly or indirectly by the Tonhen-hei. Those which aren't belong to the Ainu."  
  
"Naruhodo." So, almost everyone beyond Hakodate and Sapporo had a grudge with the Meiji Government. The native peoples didn't want their land or lives disturbed, and the Tonhen-hei were comprised mostly of a class of people the Meiji government had tried to ostracize over the past ten years.  
  
"How would you prefer to travel to Abashiri, sir? Over land, or by sea? Both are equally as dangerous, I fear." The aide pushed his glasses up on his nose and tried his best not to squirm under Saitou's unrelenting stare.  
  
"I despise the sea," Saitou replied, turning once again to observe the streets of Hakodate. Nothing good ever came from the sea.   
  
"Ah. By land, then?"  
  
"No. By boat."  
  
"But, you said...I thought..."  
  
Suddenly grinning wickedly, Saitou interrupted, "Have you ever been thrown off a carriage?"  
  
"No sir, I...I..."  
  
Grabbing the annoying aide by the collar, Saitou hissed, "Remember to tuck and roll."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
August 1879. Abashiri, Hokkaido.  
  
In the late summer, the weather in Abashiri, one of the northernmost settlements by the Meiji government, stays briskly cool. At the height of summer, the average temperature hovers around sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, or twenty-one degrees Celsius. During this time, the ice floes retreat north into the Sea of Othotsk, sulking for the next few months at the beauty of their replacement: the bright red coral grass which dots the shoreline.   
  
And yet, even with the snows gone, the land remains desolate, the untamed prairie stretching blandly to the south until blocked by snow-capped mountains. The remoteness of the area made it the absolute perfect location for the construction of Abashiri Prison.  
  
Escape from the prison presented a nigh hellish challenge to any man wishing freedom. In the fall, winter, and early spring, a body could freeze within mere hours. In the summer, the plains provided little cover to the escapee. Traveling east or west along the sea, one risked the possibility of stumbling upon the Ainu, at whose hands fate was impossible to determine.  
  
The long-houses of Abashiri prison radiated outwards from a central point: the guard station and main hall. It was here that Saitou stood, watching the bulky guard check and re-check the documents spread out on the desk.   
  
"You're in luck, Fujita-san. The men have been brought in early today because of signs of an approaching storm. At this rate, I swear, we'll never finish that damn road."  
  
"Hn," came the reply as Saitou observed a line of passing prisoners out of the corner of his eye. Some of the faces seemed familiar. But, then, he'd sent quite a few men to Abashiri over the past few years. Men who now paid the price for their crimes by working on the over one-hundred kilometers of road needed to reach Sapporo. Saitou couldn't imagine that living in such a harsh environment, completely stripped of dignity, freedom, or honor, anyone would choose the continuity of life over suicide.   
  
"I feel a bit sad that you're going to be taking this particular prisoner. He is quite a man, obedient, hard working. His mere presence seems to calm the men. I never understood what would cause such a person to be brought to Abashiri... Ah. Here it is. The key. Follow me."  
  
Saitou followed the guard down the hall of the northernmost longhouse. Most of the prisoners lay crumpled on their makeshift palettes, seeking much-needed sleep after a day of toiling on the road's construction. Conversation between prisoners seemed sparse, with those not sleeping spending their time hungrily gulping down thick chunks of bread or bowls of stew. The barracks reeked of sweat and week-old cabbage. A foul place, indeed.  
  
"He's in the room at the end there."  
  
"Alone?"   
  
The guard nodded. "The other prisoners bother him sometimes at night, begging his assistance in their escape plans. We prefer him well-rested so he can work. His fists are worth as much as the entire rabble in this bunker."   
  
"Ah." Saitou approached the door, ignoring the glares and sneers of nearby prisoners who had apparently begun to recall the lanky cop who had sent them to this hell. Using the key, Saitou unlocked the door and swung it open, finding beyond the barrier a well-muscled man sitting in a pose of humble meditation.  
  
"Monk."  
  
Without opening his eyes or changing his dour expression, Anji replied, "Fujita-dono, I thought you would come."  
  
"So ka?" Saitou pulled the door closed behind him. The only light in the room came in through a barred window at Anji's back which cast both figures in a greyish glow.  
  
"The ships?" Anji unclasped his hands and slid his prayer beads over his fist. "I can not tell you what I do not know. I'd only heard rumors, from the men, and from the guards. And then, last month, as we were out working on the road, one passed in the distance. It flew no flag. Beyond that, I fear I can be of no assistance."  
  
Saitou examined the monk more closely. Prison life never agreed with anyone, but Anji seemed to be weathering the trial better than most. And his ki, at least, exuded a peace unknown when the men had met at Mt. Hiei.   
  
"I didn't come for information."  
  
Anji said nothing to this. The monk's demeanor resembled rocks be broke with his Futae No Kiwami, as immutable as granite. Saitou knew he had to try another tactic. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document, which he tossed on the ground in front of the monk.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"An official condemnation of the men who burnt down that orphanage all those years ago. The Meiji government wishes to acknowledge those children's deaths as a tragedy. While they do not condone the fact that you subsequently took justice into your own hands, your behavior while at Abashiri makes them believe you are reformed. You are to be released into my custody."  
  
The monk's eyes, now no longer smudged with ash, widened at the realization. Freedom could be his. But Anji wasn't a stupid man, he knew there would be a price. "What is it that you want, Fujita-dono? I realize you are not the sort of man to travel three-hundred kilometers..." Comprehension filtered through Anji's expression as he watched the cop light his cigarette. "I see. The ships."  
  
"Aa."  
  
"It is true, then, that they have already taken several villages to the west?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"You understand," Anji said, fingering the document in his hands as if it were make of gold, "That I have not yet completely forgiven the Meiji government. I am a monk, but I am also a man."  
  
"Then consider this less about their wish to conquer Hokkaido and more about the lives those ships endanger. I care not how you reason it out. For the time being, you belong to me."  
  
"And afterwards?"  
  
"After my mission is complete, do as you wish."  
  
Anji stood, the process laboring due to his bulky musculature. He turned, setting his hands astride the bars of the window. "No man can free another man." To illustrate his point, Anji tapped one of the bars, causing it to combust into dust. "It is from within that we are freed."  
  
Saitou shifted his weight. The good thing about the monk was that he wasn't a babbling idiot. He weighed every choice carefully against his own personal philosophy, and spoke only when he had something to say. The bad thing about Anji, or religious personages in general, was that when they did speak, they tended towards the esoteric and enigmatic, rather than the practical. Well, if he could put up with Okita doing it, he could put up with Anji. It was, after all, the man's moral strength that had brought him here, and not the monk's lethal fists.  
  
"How is my pupil?"  
  
"The ahou is an ahou. He was born an ahou, and until the day someone finally gets tired of looking at him, he will continue to be an ahou."  
  
Nothing. Not even a smirk from the monk. "And Himura?"  
  
"Married."  
  
"So ka?"  
  
"Aa," Saitou turned towards the door, "Are we finished catching up now? I'd like to get out of here before winter."  
  
"Ah. Yes. My apologies, Fujita-dono." As they stepped into the longhouse where the guard stood waiting, Anji asked, "Have you seen a Northern Hokkaido winter yet, Fujita-dono?"  
  
"No."  
  
"As a monk, I do not say this lightly. Winter here is the mirror image of hell's landscape. Nothing survives long once within its grasp. It permits no mercy, no quarter to man or beast."  
  
"Yare, yare," Saitou drawled, "Then we should have quite a bit in common."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
February 1880. Tokyo.  
  
Teishu,  
  
I hope this letter finds you, and finds you in good health. Although Chou says that he does not know your location, he believes he may be able to sway the Police Commissioner to get my message to you. I hope you will not be too upset with me for disturbing your mission, but there is some news which I believe you may wish to know.  
  
First, let me say that everyone is fine. Naoya and Chou are doing quite well, and have fixed up Okita-san's old house nicely. Naoya will be expecting her first child in the late spring. A prouder father could not be found than Chou, I think. He spends much of his free time building a second room to their house and declaring that he is no longer 'Katana-Gari Chou", but instead, "King of the fuckin' Sawagejou Clan Chou".  
  
Okita-san's school has opened. They've seventy-six students for this term, all young women between the ages of fifteen and twenty five. Since the staff is yet small, Okita-san is kept quite horribly busy, but Jikiri-chan assists him as much as possible.   
  
As for Jikiri-chan, I believe Eiji-chan has grown quite fond of her. He brings her flowers every week. Ah, but you do not know. Eiji has decided not to go to Osaka to train under Kozue. In the early autumn, he entered a gardening contest sponsored by local city officials, and his orchid took an honorable mention from the judges. But, while there he became acquainted with a flower shop owner named Iizumi and has since become the man's apprentice. He tells me that he will save his brother's pension for something 'important', though he has not yet revealed what that might be.  
  
I recently ran into Kaoru-san in the marketplace. She and Himura-san have been blessed with a boy, Kenji. I fear, however, that the babe's hair shall be the same as his father's. Such a tragedy for the child, I think, in that he will receive no end of teasing. Kaoru-san told me that Sagara-san has left for parts unknown. Their last letter from him insinuated that he might be somewhere in Europe. I believe he may have had some sort of problem with the law, but didn't wish to pry.  
  
Tsutomu has grown greatly in the past few months. He toddles about now, though his gait is still a bit unsteady, and he ends up often falling. He's begun to talk, and calls for his "Eiji-ni" as often as he does his "'Kasan".  
  
And he is also quite interested in his younger brother.  
  
Tsuyoshi was born a few weeks ago. Please do not be concerned. Megumi-sensei assures me that both mother and child are in good health. Things were not as difficult as the last time, and I was only put off my feet for two weeks, rather than two months. I hope you shall not be angry. I would have told you when you left, but was yet unaware myself.  
  
It is snowing now, and I am brought to the thoughts of our winter wedding. I never told you, but, on our way home, in the carriage, I only pretended to be asleep. I wished so desperately to feel your arms lift me and carry me inside, for I was covetous of the protection they gave to Japan, and selfishly sought it, if for but a moment, as my own. Can you forgive such a weakness? Yesterday, I found a grey hair, as silver as the February sky. The first of many, I am certain. Yet, I am not concerned. As I look forward each autumn to the turning of the leaves, and the coming of the winter, I shall set my sights upon this, as well, with a single fond thought in mind: I will continue to wait, until every last hair is the color of snow, for your return.   
  
Fujita Tokio  
  
--  
  
Commissioner Kawaji folded the letter which Officer Sawagejou had given him earlier in the day and placed it gently in the top drawer of his desk. He wasn't a cruel man, and had a family of his own. However, the fact remained that he simply did not know where Saitou Hajime was at the moment. The man's last report had come in late September, sent from the town of Sapporo. At that time, he and the ex-prisoner Yuukyujan Anji were gathering supplies to set out to one of the captured towns in the north.   
  
It stood to reason that the Wolf of Mibu, ever-prompt in reporting, no matter the situation, had either been captured or killed. Yet, sending in someone to investigate would be unthinkable until the thaw in late spring.   
  
It was too bad about Saitou Hajime. Personally, Kawaji never liked the man, but...  
  
He was, at least, extraordinarily efficient.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Is Saitou even still alive? Did he and Anji perish in the Hokkaido winter? I surely hope not. And, if he is alive, will he find Harada and subsequently return to Tokio? Will Tokio go crazy with two kids and a puppy-love-stricken Eiji? Shouldn't someone -stop- Naoya and Chou from having children?  
  
***Author Notes:  
  
Phew. This chapter took forever. Lots of research, I suppose, plus the fact that I cut off the last 500 lines to put into the next chapter. Still, upon re-reading, I am quite unhappy with the results. I feel it is lacking some essential spark. It is hard to keep from rushing to get to the end of this thing. I was hoping to be completely done with the entire thing by the first week of January. No such luck for me. Oh well, I can always improve upon the bad spots when I edit the entire thing after the end, eh?  
  
Random note, I went to my local video store and found the "StoryImageFigure" of Saitou on sale for eleven dollars. However, when the cashier rung it up, it turned out to be seventy percent off! Pretty cool, in my opinion. He's looking wicked in his gatotsu stance!  
  
***Fan Art Contest:  
  
Nothing new to report on this front, sadly.  
  
***Chronicle Notes:  
  
Readers of the manga will recognize some of the dialogue as taken straight from Volume 28, part 252, "Autumn Winds". I, of course, took them from the translation, and hope that my mild additions and changes were not too distracting. For instance, as the title implies, Kenshin issues the challenge to Saitou in the Autumn. To fit the Hokkaido arc in properly, I changed this to May.   
  
In this episode, if you haven't read it, Megumi reveals to Kenshin that his body is slowly deteriorating due to the use of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. Kenshin decides to keep his promise to Saitou, and brings his letter of challenge to the police headquarters that very same day.  
  
Saitou doesn't go to meet him, telling Chou that "Fighting a hitokiri that doesn't kill is meaningless."   
  
Saitou's mission to Hokkaido is mentioned in the special insert to the Kenshin Kaden artbook. If you haven't seen/read this six page, full color piece by Watsuki, visit miburodotcom and check the "info" section. Since I first read it, I had been fascinated by the mystery of Saitou's Hokkaido mission, and giving life to it was one of the reasons I began this story.  
  
***Historical Notes:  
  
Yamanami: Yamanami was a Shinsengumi member who left the Shinsengumi due to ideological differences. Since such a thing was not permitted, he was a traitor to the Shinsengumi. It was Okita who tracked him down. Tragically, the two men had been good friends, and it is said to have pained Okita greatly to turn him in, rather than let him escape. Vice Captain Hijikata ordered Yamanami to commit seppuku for his crime.  
  
Hokkaido: Most of the information presented in this chapter regarding Hokkaido should be fairly on-the-mark, historically. Although Hokkaido had been a part of Japan for quite a long time before the Meiji era, because of its remote nature it lagged behind the rest of the country. Previously, under the Shogunate, the land had belonged to the Matsumae Clan, who apparently found it best to deal with the Ainu people via a system of taxation.   
  
Sapporo was, indeed, a very small town, and at the time of this story, was in the process of being "designed" by western-trained architects. Hakodate was the only well-established large city, and sits towards the southern tip of Hokkaido.  
  
The Tonhen-hei were a very real organization, farmer-warriors endowed up by the Meiji government to provide defense for the island. Many of them were, in fact, former samurais.  
  
Abashiri Prison was built during the Meiji era, and existed much as I described here. Unfortunately, it wasn't built until 1890, ten years after this chapter takes place. Nonetheless, the constituency, many of whom were political prisoners, were put to work on building the long road to Sapporo. Over a hundred men died in the task. Parts of Abashiri prison still remain, and from what I understand, it is now partially a cultural museum dedicated to both prison life during the Meiji era, as well as the native peoples of Hokkaido, such as the Ainu.  
  
I will reserve historical comments on the Ainu until the next chapter.  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Harada Sanosuke: Of course, we know him as the template upon which Watsuki based Sagara Sanosuke. And, fans of PeaceMaker Kurogane know him as the rugged spear-wielder with a scar from trying to commit seppuku. Although many sources have him dying during the Ueno War, popular sentiment during the Meiji era also declared that he had escaped to Manchuria, where he later became a bandit. Somewhere in the manga, I believe, it is mentioned that Enishi spent a good deal of time in China. More will be explained on this in the next chapter.  
  
Anji: I always liked the monk's story, and felt having him rot in a prison in Hokkaido for 20 years was no way for his story to end. Since Saitou was already -in- Hokkaido, why not have him spring the monk?   
  
Saitou Hajime: Yes. The day you decide -not- to go and fight your supposed nemesis, but instead get ordered to go investigate one of your former comrades in order to find out why he is playing pirate on the northern coast of Hokkaido might be a day when you begin to re-examine your worldview. The big question here isn't whether or not Saitou will give up his philosophy of "Aku Soku Zan", or his various takes on the code of bushido, but -how- exactly that code will apply in a situation that isn't black or white. What if his judgment tells him, in the end, that what Harada is doing is not evil, not traitorous, but honorable and justified? He recognizes this possibility. If it is, then he will be unable to return to working for the Meiji government, since...if he let Harada go, he would become the very thing he despises, corruption. And if he killed Harada without good justification, he would be betraying his inner philosophy. The only exit from both would be to -join- Harada, which is why he turns around to -look- at Tokio before he leaves...because he is worried that it will be the last time he sees her.  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Roe: Fish eggs.  
  
Hukamushi: A type of tea with a mildly bitter taste.  
  
Shogitai: Just a brief note, but this is the same fighting force in which Yahiko's father died. I could not find much information about the Shogitai, save that they fought against the Meiji government in the Ueno War, and that quite a few of the remainder of the Shinsengumi men who survived after Kondo died joined them. To this end, I should also mention that other members of the Shinsengumi continued to follow Hijikata, and made their last stand against the Meiji government in Hakodate, Hokkaido. This is actually referred to during the RK series, strangely enough, during the Anji flashback episodes. When Anji asks the children where they want to go, one of them says "To Hakodate". The child next to him says something to the effect of "Don't be stupid, Hakodate is in the middle of a war " Bizarre how everything fits together, hm? Hijikata, however, dies during the battle in Hakodate, thus ending all hopes for the remainder of the Shinsengumi.   
  
***Review Notes:   
  
I'm rather sorry for how long you've waited for such a completely -lame- chapter. I don't know what is wrong with me. Maybe I should stop trying to work on sections of my various humor fics to fight off writer's block, since the switch between the two seems to throw everything off-keel. Yes. That is it. No more working on anything else until H&T is done. I swear, I will try to do better in the final half of "Two Years in Hokkaido".   
  
I was surprised at how many people liked the end of the "ninja arc", and in fact, on how -few- people commented on the confusing story flow. Yet one more thing to try to tighten up in editing, hm? I haven't decided, but many people commented on the fact that Jikiri being Okita's daughter was just a bit -too- convenient. I might take it out later, as I am still tossing it back and forth in my head.  
  
Lets see, I wanted to especially thank everyone who reviewed. Please excuse if any of my comments are confusing. It is now 3:52am. I'm a little...er...loopy. So, special thanks to: lifeischaos, tinnitus (Sorry, churning them out as fast as I can!), LSR-7 (Tsutomu IS a little scary looking, isn't he?), JadeGoddess, Wolfgirl13 (There's a wedding for ya.), ^_^ (Yup, just whistling. Sorry to let you down.), Tessira Aleyn (Glad you enjoyed the chapter!), Charmed-Anime (Wedding galore!), Shinichi (Kuno is indeed Saitou. Bizarre, eh?), me me me and only me,   
  
bobo3: Bursting eardrums got you, eh? For me, it is descriptions of drowning. I'm so glad our characters live in a city. Oh wait, there are ships in this Hokkaido arc. Crap.   
  
fujifunmum: HA! You read my mind. I was trying to think of something for Saitou to try to get out of Tokio, but didn't find a way to work it in.   
  
AiteanE: Okita losing his virginity. Yeah. Scary thought. *drool* *faint* I kept trying not to write it. *push out of head* I think it would be AWESOME to have a chance to be a voice actor! I wonder where I can sign up to do Okita's voice for Peacemaker Kurogane.   
  
ChiisaiLammy: Aha! Thanks! A good term to know for the editing phase. I agree about the Okita/Jikiri thing. That worked out a little -too- well. Ah well, maybe I will edit it out later.  
  
tesuka- chan: Well, I did insinuate in the very first chapter that our beloved Okita had spent his time with the women of Kyoto. Still not the second to last chapter yet, though it should have been. The second half of Two Years in Hokkaido will have DANCING BEARS. Jeez. I need to stop typing at 4:30 in the morning.  
  
Catnip: Yes. Many a ninja. It can be hard to follow! Too many original characters at once and you get OVERLOAD! I know how that is. Crap. It is 4:30 in the morning, I am not making any damn sense.  
  
Tenniyo: Ah, but I would have been barely out of high school when RK was being animated. I do like to think there is a bit of rat-girl in me, though I have never personally beaten anyone with the end of a broomstick, I do beat my ceiling with one when my upstairs neighbors are too noisy.  
  
ione_girl: The night he became a man. Yeah, that is a pretty cheesy line. BTW, even if you aren't drawing it as fanart for this story, I would still love to see your picture of Okita when you finish!  
  
vegetachanlover: He hates that damn cat, doesn't he? And now she has a -white- cat named Midnight and a -black- cat named Snowflake. Oh Tokio, don't you realize that you aren't funny at -all-? I thought the part about the "protocol for fighting women" was a good bit of tongue-in-cheek fun, also! Anyway...romance between Eiji and Jikiri? Might be. She's a year older than him, though. Way to go Eiji...picking up the older women.  
  
Cherry Delight: Nakenashi not right? Well, I'm not sure any of these characters are exactly -right- in the head. Except, perhaps, Eiji. Poor normal guy in the middle of a bunch of wackos, I think. Okita being a father may be too much for me. I think that part may have to come out. I just...can't stand...to think...*faint*  
  
conspirator: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you're liking "A Sakabatou For Baka Saitou", as well. I'm beginning, in writing this story, to think that Saitou's favorite words are: Ahou, annoying, infuriating, moron, idiot, useless, and damn. Good thing he tends not to use them all at once!  
  
bonessasan: Yeah. I think I may take that part out. Don't know. Still considering options on the Okita/Jikiri connection. Definitely needs some editing.   
  
darktenshi: Well, here is the beginning of the Hokkaido arc. I hope you approve so far. I actually do not have the resolution of the Hokkaido arc written in my mind yet, so this could go just about anywhere. Frightening.  
  
_lone_wolf_236: Yes. Never come between the Wolf of Mibu and his beloved katana. If you do, he's likely to rip a hole in your dojo or your tanuki. As for Jikiri/Nakenashi, I like her being sorta grumpy and surly. She's the Eeyore to Okita's Pooh, I think. She'll atone, but in a completely different way than everyone else. Did I say Enishi's gloves? I must have been on drugs. He wrote one about Saitou's gloves and one about Enishi's robe. Fused them in my mind, I did.   
  
caitlin: I hope Okita is able to fix her. Otherwise, there will be a psychotic mini-ninja loose in Tokyo! Unfortunately, the story will not go on forever. After the end of the Hokkaido arc, there is one more chapter, and the epilogue, and then, thank goodness, I will be done.  
  
Rainchaser: Woohoo! Can't wait to see what you have brewing on the fanart side. I don't know where the humor for that chapter sprung from. Too much writing on "The Kuni Tori Report" and "A Sakabatou For Baka Saitou", I suppose.  
  
DuelMonsterschic27: Thank you so much for your kind words. I have seen the Burai scans at miburodotcom and find them quite cool! Ehhh. I don't know about your last comment. I'd be pleased as punch if Watsuki even -spit- on my fiction, eh? :D   
  
Animyth: Ranma is good stuff, indeed. I think I watched parts of it about ten years ago, since I recall some things, but not others. My memory isn't so good. Most all dubbed voices scare me. I saw an episode of RK dubbed for the first time on Cartoon Network a few weeks ago, and it made me grit my teeth. Yikes. Soujiro just isn't as scary without his perfectly Soujiro voice.  
  
eriesalia: Yes. I have seen Okita in PMK. SO CUTE, IT KILLS ME. I have not seen the anime ovas based on the daughters of the Shinsengumi. That might be -very- interesting to check out! I'll keep an eye open.  
  
Crystal Renee: I'm glad you are liking the story so far! Thanks for reviewing all the chapters you did!  
  
Whew: Only 48 minutes to answer reviews this time. Official time: 4:40! 


	22. Chapter 21: War of the Last Wolves

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 21 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The monk was chanting again.  
  
How a man could fill his life with so much chanting and meditation perplexed Saitou. Diligent introspection never struck the cop as a particularly useful pastime. Once you knew the timbre and direction of your life, why dwell upon it? Why would anyone wish to ponder the unknowable mysteries of life? They were, by definition, unknowable.   
  
The monk's large frame took up a good quarter of the hut where they had been dwelling all winter. They'd arrived on the northern coast once again in mid-October, after journeying from Abashiri to Sapporo for supplies.   
  
It was to their surprise that they found every supposedly captured city perfectly in tact. The people there, mostly native Ainu, had suffered not a single casualty. No buildings had been destroyed, no women or children harmed, no men forcibly conscripted.  
  
However, some language problems prevented a full revelation of the tale. The Ainu appeared, as well, reluctant to speak on the matter. They knew of the ships, which they called the Great Black Beasts from the West, but would expound no more upon the subject.  
  
And then, early in November, winter hit with remarkable force, stranding the men in the third 'captured' fishing village they had visited. The people there, simple but kind, and not at all like the information Saitou had received in Hakodate, gave the "Rockbreaker" and "Yellow Eyes" the small hut. In return, the pair assisted the villagers with the mundane tasks which plagued simple Northern Hokkaido life, everything from repairing boats and huts, to hunting seals, to watching children (a task which Saitou always delegated to the monk, and which Anji appeared to quite enjoy).  
  
The name of the village was Blue Cove. It lay situated upon a small inlet of the Sea of Othotsk, and contained no more than three dozen families. Mealtime fare consisted of dried and salted fish, to which Saitou's stomach first violently objected, apparently much to the amusement of the monk. But, at least the villagers had tobacco, grown and dried during the summer season.   
  
It was during the winter that the pair were able to learn more about the ships, after engendering the trust of the native peoples. The ships had arrived the previous year, but had not attacked the village. Rather, the men from the ships had come inland to speak with the people. They revealed the plans of the Meiji government to take the Ainu's land. Since the people had heard, already, of this occurring in other villages, they were stricken with panic.   
  
The leader of the ship's men said that he did not wish for the Meiji people to take the land from the Ainu. He had plans to take the entire island of Hokkaido, and when he did, the land which already belonged to the native peoples would continue to belong to them. There would be no movement to force the Japanese culture upon the Ainu, nor would there be any taxation.  
  
Of course, the Ainu had no choice but to accept his terms. They knew that if the leader wished, the town could have been destroyed when the ships first arrived. But, the ship men had offered peace. If the Great Beasts were to make war against the Meiji, then they would be friends of the Ainu. In accordance with the ship's captain's wishes, the villagers sent a rider south to tell the nearest Tonhen-hei troops that the village had been captured in a bloody battle, and to leak the information of the powerful ships.  
  
The ships left in early summer, promising to come again to Blue Cove the following spring.  
  
Saitou questioned the Ainu at length about the identity of the ship's captain. He was, they said, a giant of a man, who wore foreign clothing and carried a spear as tall as a house. He personally vowed to return with guns and rice, both products hard to come by in the northern villages.   
  
Return.   
  
Already winter had fallen away to mid spring, and there had been no sign of the ships, here or at any of the nearby "captured" villages.   
  
It was time to start planning a new tactic, since patience, this time, was proving ineffective. But, with that damned monk chanting all the time, how was he to even think? At least Chou could be threatened. You could hold a sword to Anji's neck for an hour, and the man wouldn't blink, he'd just continue to chant. Saitou should know, he'd already tried that tactic.  
  
"Sirs! Sirs!" It was the young woman, Mei, to whom the hut belonged. It had been constructed as her bridal home, but her intended husband had died before they could be wed. She pushed open the reed door with aplomb. "Quickly come! The ships! The ships come."  
  
And with this news, Anji finally stopped chanting.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You lose! Ha. Didn't I tell you all that a washer woman's daughter doesn't belong here? Didn't I?"  
  
The girls around Oyasu Masae all nodded in agreement. Despite the fact that most of -them- were the daughters of important Meiji officials or foreign ambassadors, the real reason they didn't question Masae was her formidable ability with the bokken at her side. Fortunately, she had not been combating her opponent with the wooden sword, and instead, had merely won a game of shogi. The other player, Harada Shikiko, dipped her head in response and passed her most prized possession, a tiny mirror, across the table to the winner.  
  
"You shouldn't bet if you aren't sure of winning, Shikiko-kun," one of the girls advised.  
  
"What does she know of winning?" Masae opined, "She's been a loser all her life. She's only here because one of her relatives died and left her mother some money. No breeding at all. Not like me." Masae turned and looked at the small house far across the lawn of the Tokyo Women's University. "I'm going to marry Okita-san."  
  
A general cry of oohs and ahhs leapt from the starry eyed faces of the young women clustered around the outdoor table.   
  
"Oh, he's so..."  
  
"Handsome, just like my papa."  
  
"I've met your papa, he smells of fish, not at all like Okita-san."  
  
"Why you..."  
  
"Okita-san is brilliant, don't you think?"  
  
"Well, yes, of course, have you read his book of poetry?"  
  
"No, because Sumiko-kun always has it checked out from the library."  
  
"No fair, Sumiko!"  
  
"Nonetheless," Masae said, quieting the girls with her strong voice, "I'm going to marry him someday. Because, I always get what I want. My father sees to it..."  
  
"Your father?" The hissing voice came from just beyond the circle, causing all the girls to turn their heads to get a good look at the speaker. Standing in the tall grass which came up far past her ankles, Jikiri snorted and crossed her arms. "Your father is little more than a horse-faced tax-assessor. Don't overestimate your importance, Masae-kun." Jikiri pushed her way through the throng of girls easily, despite the fact that her size set her shorter than even the youngest. She grabbed the mirror in Masae's hands with an audible snarl and handed it back to Shikiko. "Doesn't your father perform enough thievery for your entire family, Masae? Besides, gambling is not allowed. You could get expelled. You do not want to get expelled, do you, Masae-kun?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, the tall girl sounded a low harrumph, and turned to walk away from the table.   
  
"Thank-you, Jikiri-chan," Shikiko muttered, "I don't know why I let her bully me into betting my mirror."  
  
"Because you have the spirit of a field mouse, Shikiko," Jikiri noted. "And mice are always the first to get picked off by owls. Try not to be so stupid in the future."   
  
"Ano...I..."  
  
But, Jikiri didn't stay put long enough to hear any more. She'd already pushed her way back out of the circle of girls, and was heading towards the house across the field.  
  
"Who is she? She looks too young to be at school here," one of the new girls asked.   
  
"Eh? That's Okita Jikiri."  
  
"Okita-san has a daughter?"  
  
"Nuh-uh. I heard she was his niece."  
  
"Cousin is what I heard."  
  
"Well, no matter what she is to him, she's just about the grumpiest girl I ever met. Scary, too..."  
  
Jikiri opened the door of her mentor's office to find the once much-feared Captain of the First Troop of the Shinsengumi standing in front of an easel in a smock, his left hand on his hip. His other hand held a long paintbrush at his lips.  
  
"Shouldn't chew on that, Okita-san."  
  
Okita jumped, dropping the paintbrush on his toes, his hands flying comically into the air.  
  
"Aieeee! Jikiri-chan. Such a fright." His hands fluttered at his chest as he turned around. "Now I know why all the great artists die so young."  
  
"Don't play stupid, Okita-san, you knew this Jikiri was here before she even opened the door."  
  
"Hmmm? That's what Saitou-san always says. But, I figure, it is such a tragedy to go through life never to be surprised by anyone's entrance, I might as well pretend and make the best of things." Okita bent to retrieve the paintbrush and placed it on the small tray beside the easel. "You look nice in your uniform, Jikiri-chan."  
  
Jikiri scrunched up her face and shifted her weight, resisting the urge to pull at the thin blue tie around her neck. She didn't want to talk about her uniform. The western-style top made it impossible to draw her kodachis at any reasonable rate of speed, so she had finally had to give up wearing them strapped to her chest. And she didn't even want to -talk- about the long navy blue skirt. "What does Okita-san paint, eh?"  
  
"Take a guess."  
  
Jikiri stepped forward to observe the canvas. By Kami, Okita-san was a bad painter. "Looks like a bluebird trying to stuff a frog in its mouth."  
  
The left corner of Okita's smile twitched.  
  
"Maybe you should stick to poetry, then, Okita-san."  
  
The right corner of Okita's smile twitched.  
  
Attempting to change the subject, Jikiri motioned towards a vase of flowers in the corner. "Those are nice. Did you pick them in the garden?"  
  
"Eiji brought them for you earlier in the day."  
  
Jikiri's left hand twitched.  
  
"He invited us to dinner."  
  
Jikiri's right hand twitched.  
  
"You don't have anything better to do, do you, Jikiri-chan?" Okita untied his paint-covered smock and folded it, placing it on the tray beside his paintbrush.   
  
"Yes, yes. This Jikiri has an appointment to go on a killing spree of all the flower vendors in Tokyo."  
  
Okita's brown eyes grew wide as he placed his hand on his ward's shoulder. Momentarily, Jikiri felt certain that a look of stern reprimand had crossed his face. But, then his sunshine smile chased away any inkling of anger. "Be careful, Jikiri-chan. Making jokes can be habit forming."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Captain Harada! These two men were waiting in the village. Said they wanted to talk to ya. And they ain't Ainu, neither."  
  
The bulky captain had been leaning on the railing of the ship, peering out towards the sea. As he stood and thrust his arms to the side, several of his joints cracked. "S'at so?" He turned to observe the newcomers to the main deck of the Shikiko. Saitou's eyes narrowed as he took in the visage of the supposedly dead Shinsengumi Captain. Tall, with a mane of unkempt black hair that fell at his shoulders when not caught by the sea's wind. Harada had a much more rugged look about him now, with a shade of a beard and deep lines cutting across his wind weathered face. "What's this? A monk? Come to save our souls, friend?"  
  
The crew laughed raucously at their Captain's words. Anji, on the other hand, moved only insomuch as to glance at the man standing to his left.   
  
"Harada."  
  
The single word caused the entire ship to plunge into silence. Harada stared at the man before him for several seconds, as if trying to place the voice and face. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed, "Saitou-san! I thought you were dead! You disappeared after Toba Fushimi, no one knew if you had escaped or of the Ishin Shishi had finally..."  
  
Saitou lit a cigarette. When Harada got going, there were only two options: punch him in the mouth, or get him drunk. (And, sometimes, even the -latter- didn't work.) Since he could currently do neither, he decided upon patience.   
  
"Men! This is Saitou Hajime! Perhaps the strongest swordfighter of the Shinsengumi. Hopeless with a spear, though." Harada chuckled, his laugh echoed by the ship's crew. His eyes sparkled with the same flame of amiable roguishness they had carried during the Revolution. "Well, Saitou-san, you are certainly an honored guest here. And your friend, too. Though I never figured you to be the sort of man to take up religious practice, eh?"  
  
"He has his useful moments."  
  
Anji did -nothing- in response. It was harder to get a rise out of the monk than it was to get one out of Tokio.  
  
"Well, come, come, Saitou-san. Let us adjourn to my cabin. We've much to speak upon. And I could use a nip or barrel to drink." Harada turned, lifting a his long spear from where it lay against the railing. "Subake!"  
  
A man wearing a red handkerchief around the lower half of his face stepped forward. "Sir?"  
  
"Continue the operation as planned. Send my regrets to the village elders. I will visit them tomorrow."  
  
"Yes sir!" Harada's first mate, which Saitou assumed from the way he began to subsequently order the crew around, clamped a hand on Anji's shoulder and said, "Sake Subake at your service, friend. How's about some food? What's a monk eat, anyway?"  
  
Harada's cabin wasn't much in the way of home-style comfort. A few maps strewn across a table, rickety wooden chairs, a cot in the corner with a faded blanket crumpled to one side, a small trunk and an oil lamp were the only furniture to be seen. A few various trinkets hung from the ceiling and the walls, several strings of shells, a monkey's skull painted red for luck, and a faded photograph of a young woman dressed in a dark colored kimono.  
  
"Well, make yourself at home," Harada announced, sitting down crosslegged on the trunk. "You know, I almost didn't recognize you in a plain gi and hakama. Course, the last time I saw you, your uniform was damn near soaked through with blood. I couldn't tell if you were bleeding to death or just coated from head to toe in gore. How did you survive Toba Fushimi, anyway? Last I noticed, you were fighting that damnable Hitokiri Battousai."  
  
"Cannon blast," Saitou replied, "A nearby impact sent both of us flying. By the time I came around, the enemy had secured victory. I crawled into a nearby grove, found a creek, and ended up floating downstream, avoiding capture."  
  
"So ka? You always were a tough one, eh, Saitou-kun? Guess the cannon blast finally got the Battousai, huh? Ain't no one heard of him since Toba Fushimi."  
  
Saitou decided he had more important topics to pursue than delving into the history of Himura Battousai following the Bakumatsu. Besides, his intimate knowledge of the former assassin's life would bring up too many questions, the answers to which Harada need not yet know. "Aa. Dead."  
  
"So, how'd you end up here?"  
  
"I've been teaching kendo in Hakodate." A convenient lie, but one which Saitou doubted Harada would check. "Some of my students are Tonhen-hei. They'd heard rumors, so I came to find out the truth. What do you have here, Harada? Piracy on the high seas?"  
  
Harada stood and opened the trunk upon which he had been sitting, pulling a jug of sake and two bowls from within. "Piracy? No, Saitou-kun, there's nothing in Northern Hokkaido for a man to take. These villages have little more than dried salmon and reed huts. Any treasures they might have contained have long since been plundered by the Matsumae Clan." The Captain poured sake into one of the bowls and slid it across the table to Saitou. "Drink?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No? What's this? One of the best drinkers of the Shinsengumi refusing the offer of sake? After all this time, how can you refuse a drink from your compatriot, eh?" Harada flipped his mane of tangled black hair over his shoulder as he slugged back a cup of sake. "You used to be able to match me, drink for drink."  
  
Saitou fingered the rim of the low sake cup pensively. It was true, he and Harada had gone a few rounds back in the day. A few rounds? No. A slew of rounds. They drank to fallen comrades. They drank to fallen enemies. They drank to new recruits. They even drank to Okita's goddamn fish.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kyoto. During the Bakumatsu.   
  
"Pour."  
  
Saitou slammed his cup down on the low table and leveled his gaze at Harada, who was half-laying on the tatami, his fingers threaded through his unbound hair. The young woman kneeling nearby, one of several of the ladies who kept the Shinsengumi headquarters from falling into aesthetic disarray, leaned forward and obliged the request.  
  
"You say everything the same way when you are drunk, Saitou-kun," Harada drawled, raising an eyebrow at the gratuitous peek he was getting of the young woman's cleavage as she refilled his cup. It was, of course, the very reason he'd positioned himself so low on the tatami. "Everything. 'Pour.' 'Shut up.' 'Die.' All the same."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Harada laughed, knocking back his sake to keep up with the other Captain. "You ever met a man in such a perpetual bad mood, 'Kita-kun? Even when he's liquored up, he scowls."  
  
Okita looked up from his spot in the corner, where he'd been nursing the same cup of sake for the past hour. "Could be worse, Harada-san. He could get drunk and pick fights with barn doors in front of a throng of Kyoto's residents. Tell me, did you win that one? I forget."  
  
Harada's jocularity took a sudden plunge as his hand hit the tatami and his torso popped up. "Why you little runt... I oughta fuckin' teach you to keep that smart mouth of yours closed..."  
  
"How do you plan on doing such a thing, Harada-kun? You can't even stand up."  
  
Harada literally rose to the challenge, pushing himself up, setting his feet apart to keep from swaying. "C'mon, 'Kita-kun. I'll take ya on. And for your information, I beat that damn door to a pulp, just like I'll beat your scrawny little..."  
  
Okita chuckled in response, the twinkle in his eyes growing brighter as he slid his back against the wall, pulling his body into a standing position. The scene resembled David cornered in the towering shadow of Goliath.   
  
Harada closed the distance in only three steps, his right fist reared back in preparation to slam Okita's head against the wall. But, as his arm flew forward, at the last second he pulled his punch, and flicked the end of Okita's nose with his index finger. "Bad piggy."  
  
The pair had some sort of inside joke having to do with Harada's background of being brought up on a farm. In response to the other Captain's negligible taunt, Okita lifted his cup of sake and overturned it on top of Harada's head.  
  
Saitou smirked. And, Okita noticed.  
  
"Yatta, Harada-kun, we win the day! He doesn't always scowl."   
  
"Hey, this isn't even sake," Harada muttered, licking a few drops from his nose. "It's just weak tea..."  
  
"Idiots," Saitou hissed, slamming his sake cup onto the table. Before he could growl for it to be refilled, the attentive young woman produced the sake jug and began anew. While the 'Okita and Harada Show' was a marked distraction from his mind's constant toil, if they became any louder, Hijikata would show up, and then there really -would- be trouble. "I'm off to patrol."  
  
"Alone, Saitou-san?" Okita asked.   
  
"Aa."   
  
"You should take some of your men..."  
  
Drinking his last swig of sake, Saitou stood, "I'll never find 'him' with those noisy morons clomping around behind me." After sliding the shoji shut, he stepped to the side, cloaking his ki as he listened to the rest of the conversation.  
  
"Do you think I pissed him off, 'Kita-kun?"  
  
"No. Some men drink to forget themselves, but with Saitou-san each drink causes him to more vividly remember what drives his life. I assure you, the katana at his side won't be going through barn doors this evening."  
  
"Well, why don't you knock a few back and go join him, 'Kita-kun?"  
  
Okita's laughter spilled out of the room into the hallway. "Harada-san, I'm an eighteen-year old whose stature and looks get him laughed out of brothels, and who strikes fear into the rest of the women he meets. What, exactly, do you think happens to me when I get drunk?"  
  
"Mmmmm? 'Kita-kun, I was wrong, you're a -lusty- little piggy. Eh, don't worry, my friend. If a guy like me can find a girl, you can, too."  
  
"Yeah, maybe, but I'd like to meet one in a nicer place than a brothel. Oh, wait, isn't that where you met -your- woman, Harada?"  
  
Saitou heard Harada's heavy steps cross the room once again, thumping beneath his considerable bulk.   
  
Thwip.  
  
"Bad piggy."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sake in the cup rippled as Saitou continued to tap his finger on the side. Sake. Well, it did always seem to make his mission clearer, his purpose more certain. Tokio would forgive him this, if in the end, it allowed him to complete his task and come home.  
  
He lifted the cup, tilting it slightly towards his host before bringing it to his lips. Ah. That was it. A warmth which slithered down his throat and came to nestle in his stomach, fighting off the lingering Hokkaido chill. Seconds later, the cup hit the table beneath Saitou's spread fingers.  
  
"Pour."  
  
"Ah! Much better!" Harada declared, "To what do we drink, Saitou-kun?"  
  
"To past and present battles."  
  
"Yes, and to past and present friends, ne?" Harada leaned forward to refill the cups. "So, what do you think of the Shikiko, eh? A dozen cannons, all in working order. I plan to park her right in Hakodate harbor, when all is said and done."  
  
"The ship is commendable. But, I have to wonder, how did you come by such a vessel?"  
  
"Quite simple enough. Up until about a year and a half ago, my men and I were bandits in Manchuria. Because of a foolish mistake, we were captured by the Chinese government. They wanted to put us to death, of course, but somehow a Japanese businessman friendly with the officials learned who I was. He had us released and, in thanks, we were obliged to listen to his plan."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"Taking control of Hokkaido before the Meiji government can do so. Yukishiro-san didn't care much for the way things have changed, I fear. He had it in mind to create, in Hokkaido, a land returned to the way of the samurai, a land under the code of bushido. You know, a place where men like us can be proud to live. So, he gave us the ships and a general outline of the plan, and we've been seeing it through to fruition. Don't you think that would be good, Saitou-kun? A place where samurai can live as samurai, where the Shinsengumi are reinstated to keep the peace? And the damn corruption of the Meiji government can stay where it is, in the south. We'll watch as they destroy themselves, imploding under the pressure of their own vices, until the day they come begging for our help."  
  
With the sake warming his gut, Saitou had to admit, the plan did have its appeal. Harada didn't have power or revenge in mind, and he certainly wasn't betraying any ideal upon which Saitou could immediately lay a finger. The man just wanted to create a land where he could live, peacefully and honorably.  
  
His plan was upright, honorable, courageous, and loyal to the ideals to which he had vowed his soul so many years ago.  
  
And yet, there was something which just felt unsettling about the whole thing.  
  
Tokio. Her face seemed to be reflected in the ripples of his sake. The moonlight of that night, the night they had parted, played in her hair, creating flashes of ever-moving light as it floated in the breeze. Her graceful fingers curled around the edge of the shoji... Breathless, she waited for the words, for his promise. He shouldn't have turned around. He shouldn't have... How he hated when she cried, but keen hearing honed through years of training had brought her sobs to his ears, even after she closed the shoji. And he could still hear it, long after he'd turned off Taito street, and even as he climbed the steps of police headquarters. Even now.  
  
He never should have turned around.  
  
He hated crying.  
  
"So, Saitou-kun, what do you think? Will you join up? Your monk friend, too, if he wants. I'm sure the men could use some moral guidance, since all they have right now is a degenerate Captain, drunk on sake and nostalgia."   
  
What other choice was there?  
  
"Aa. I'll join." The sake cup hit the table. "Now, pour."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
July 7, 1880: Tokyo.  
  
Naoya stomped one foot on the engawa in an attempt to get her husband's attention. "You keep beating on that bamboo pole like that, and you're either going to break it, or that damn rusty sword. Then where'll you be, eh?"   
  
"Why ya always gotta nag me, huh? Shut yer trap. The whole point ta usin' the -rusty- sword is that I don't care if it breaks," Chou replied, looking over his shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, but the tip could fly off and kill someone."  
  
"I wish it would kill you," Chou said, turning back to his task, "'Cause then at least you'd shut the fuck up for once."  
  
"Sawagejou Chou! How dare you say something like that to your -wife-?" Naoya jumped off the engawa, flames in her eyes, flying through the back yard like a rampaging bull.   
  
Marriage had not particularly softened Chou or Naoya. On the contrary, they seemed to fight now more than ever.   
  
But, as Naoya approached, Chou thrust the old sword into the thick bamboo stalk and spun around, catching her hand before she could slap him. His left eye squinting at Naoya's surprised struggle, Chou pulled the rat-girl against his chest and said, "Gimmie a kiss, you saucy wench."  
  
"Rogue."  
  
"Nag."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Mule."  
  
"A nag is the same thing as a mule, moron."  
  
"A moron is the same thing as an idiot, woman." Chou released his wife's hand, but not before placing it against his lips to kiss it lightly. "A'right, I'm sorry. Jus' let me do what I'm doin'. There's too many kids in that damn house, Mama."  
  
There were, in fact, a lot of children in the Fujita home. In addition to Tsutomu and Tsuyoshi, the Narajirous had arrived earlier in the week, bringing their two daughters, three year old Fujiko, and two year old Ichimi. Then, of course, there was also Naoya and Chou's daughter, Eiko, born earlier in the year. The house was practically bursting with babies and toddlers.  
  
"Okay, but just...don't make wishes like that, especially not on Tanabata."  
  
"Aha," Chou drawled, "She's superspicous -and- saucy."  
  
"Superstitious."  
  
"Exactly what I said."  
  
Inside the Fujita home, Captain Okita Souji was under intense investigation by Narajirou Fujiko.  
  
"You a boy or girl?"  
  
"Boy."  
  
Fujiko spun around, her arms outstretched. "I'm a girl."  
  
"Yes, yes you are," Okita reached out to steady Fujiko as she came to a stop, helping to keep her from toppling over due to dizziness.  
  
"Do you have any brothers or sisters? I have a sister. Chi-chan is my sister."  
  
"Oi, fa la la, sorry 'bout that, Okita-san," Kume chirped, scooping the toddler up under her arm. "She's a curious one. Last week she asked our old blind neighbor if his eyes fell out because he didn't eat enough carrots. And the week before that she asked Kozue who thought up -feet-!"  
  
"Who thinked up feet, Mama? Who did?" Fujiko reiterated.  
  
"Tra la la!" Kume said, looking exasperated for the first time Okita had ever seen. "I don't know, Fujiko-chan. But, it's a good thing we have them, ne? Else we'd have to walk on our hands."  
  
"Ooooo." Fujiko cooed, her arms and legs flailing about as she attempted to squirm away from her mother. "Can you walk on your hands, Mama? Show Fujiko!"  
  
"No, 'fraid I can't."  
  
The child's face contorted and began to become tinged with a bit of redness. She was a little girl in desperate need of a -nap-. As Fujiko rubbed at her eyes, trying not to cry like a big girl, a voice from the corner of the room spoke up.  
  
"This one can walk on her hands." Jikiri was already pulling an unfinished yukata belt from Tokio's sewing basket. She tied off the long navy skirt of her school uniform with an ounce of flare as the little girl and her mother watched in awe. This was the first time the sour young woman had spoken since they arrived the previous week. Jikiri then reached out one hand to the floor and, pushing off with her legs, ended up doing a handstand. "See?" Jikiri walked forwards and backwards on her hands, much to the delight of both the child and the mother.  
  
And Okita.  
  
"Teach me! Teach me, Jikiri-neesan!"  
  
"Alright, come to Jikiri, midgetling. She will show you special ninja upside-down techniques. Good for if your feet fall off."  
  
Fujiko finally succeeded in escaping her mother's grasp and toddled over to Jikiri. Kume, flabbergasted, plopped down next to Okita and fanned her face. She leaned in close to the smiling man and asked, "Oi, Okita-san, do you think it will be alright?"  
  
"Yes, Narajirou-san," Okita replied, beaming brightly as his ward instructed the child in the ancient art of the handstand, "It will be just fine."  
  
Beyond them, in the kitchen, Tokio, Eiji and Kozue busied themselves in preparing the afternoon's picnic. Well, Tokio and Eiji prepared the picnic, and Kozue endeavored to stay away from anything breakable. So far, he had been quite successful.  
  
"It was so good of you to come and visit, Kozue. But, won't your students miss you?"  
  
"Ah, ano, I'll just have to work them extra hard when I return, hm?" Kozue dodged as Eiji spun around holding a box of food. "Anyway, uh, Bunny-chan has always wanted to see Tanabata in Tokyo."  
  
Tokio's smile, lined with sadness, remained hidden from the other occupants of the room. Kozue had never been good at lying. She suspected the either Okita or Naoya had written the Narajirous the previous month, telling them that Saitou had been gone for over a year. It was as if Kozue had long ago made a silent vow to show up and provide solace whenever Tokio's husband disappeared.   
  
And while she did find mild comfort in her friends' concern over the situation, their presence only made Hajime's absence more apparent.   
  
Everyone was here. Her entire extended family, their children, their friends. Everyone except him.  
  
Where was he, now? Even though she tried desperately not to think of it, everything reminded her of him. When men would pass in the marketplace, smoking, it reminded her. When Tsutomu looked at her with brown eyes already becoming flecked with gold, it reminded her. Whenever she saw the moon, it reminded her.  
  
It reminded her of that look in his eyes when he turned around.  
  
And, that one look had made this time harder than all the others. Tokio understood, before, the significance of his never looking back when leaving. But, she'd never guessed how cruel, how completely devastating, a simple meeting of gazes could be.  
  
Last week, after the children had gone to sleep, she'd sat in their room, brushing out her hair. A summer storm had come that evening, bringing with it the electricity of a nervous sky.  
  
He dreamed of lightning, he had said, of lightning and of storms.   
  
Of all the things they'd never said to one another, "Goodbye" was the most important.   
  
Her hair stuck in her brush. Or, perhaps her arm just faltered. This, too, reminded her of the way he would grab her hair, pulling it firmly to heighten her anticipation of his kiss. Even in this, he made her wait. Waiting for the touch of his lips, waiting for him to acquiesce to their mutual desires.   
  
Waiting to hear him growl her name, and knowing that he had already calculated her every sigh.  
  
Her brush dropped beside her hip. She'd pulled herself across the room, racing on hands and knees to the nearest cabinet. With fumbling fingers she threw it open, greedily exhuming the contents into her lap. Just a few old undershirts, and a uniform that had been battered beyond repair during his trip to Kyoto. Tokio buried her face in the cloth, biting the fabric to stifle a sob. The faint smell of cigarettes coated her cheeks, the residue burning as it mingled with the tears in her eyes.  
  
He was here. He was here. She could imagine, just for a moment, that he was right here.  
  
"Auntie Tokio?" Eiji tugged on her sleeve gently. She'd been getting like this more and more often. He'd find her just suddenly staring into space. The food she'd prepare would have more and more burnt spots. She'd never talk about it, though. Neither of the Fujitas were the sort to just randomly divulge their emotions. Nonetheless, he'd do whatever it took to get her through this, to get them all through this. They were, after all, his responsibility. Fujita-san had said so in his letter.  
  
"Oh. Yes. My apologies. I was just trying to figure out what would go best with these yams."  
  
"The best thing for yams is a ham and some jam," Okita called from the next room. Jikiri groaned in response.  
  
Quite frightening how well the man's hearing worked. Tokio put her fingers to her lips, and gave Eiji a sad, but knowing look. Yes. They were, indeed, an odd group.  
  
"Well, nonetheless, I think everything is in order. Shall we gather everyone and head out? Chou should be finished setting up the sasaki in the back yard by now."  
  
"Alright, Auntie Tokio," Eiji replied, "A picnic it is."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
If you ask a roomful of people "What is the meaning of Tanabata?", every person is likely to give you a different answer. The tradition is said to have begun in China and migrated to Japan around the late eighth century. During the festival, streamers made from colored paper, along with other decorations, are placed upon sasaki trees, or on bamboo poles, symbolizing various wishes.   
  
But, the true story of Tanabata, The Festival of Stars, begins in the sky. Orihime, the weaver of the clothes of the Emperor of Heaven, had become so overcome by her task of sewing for the Emperor and his children, that she had no time for herself. The Emperor saw her despair, and, being kind, married her off to the Herdsman who lived on the other side of the Celestial River.  
  
Orihime became so taken by her new husband that she neglected her weaving. Well, a proper Emperor can not go about naked, can he? So, he was forced to forbid Orihime from seeing her husband ever again.  
  
Orihime cried so vehemently, and mourned the loss of her love so sincerely, that the Emperor had a change of heart, and promised the pair that they could meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. During this time, the constellation of the Herdsman and Orihime's star, Vega, mingle in the night sky.  
  
And it is celebrated in the land below as Tanabata.  
  
It was through such a scene of celebration that the group walked, pointing out decorations, reveling in the shared happiness of passersby, chatting amongst themselves as to the nature of wishes they might make. Naoya said she'd wish that her daughter would grow up to be graceful, dignified, and very tall (the last of these causing Jikiri to scowl frightfully). Eiji said he'd wish that his parents and brother were now in a peaceful and beautiful place, and that Jikiri would wear her school uniform more often. In response, Jikiri said she wished men had never been invented. Okita wished his school would become a success, but secretly whispered to Tokio that he really wished Jikiri would find happiness in her life. Chou, predictably, wished for more swords. And Kume wished to see a panda bear.  
  
"Well, I've never seen one, tra la la," she replied as everyone stared at her. "And I already have everything else I've ever wanted. Isn't that right, Fujiko-chan?"  
  
Fujiko, suddenly shy, buried her face in her mother's kimono.  
  
"Narajirou-san should wish for a smarter wife," Chou mumbled under his breath.   
  
Naoya opened her mouth to chastise him, but, upon realizing that he'd just implied that -he- didn't have an imbecile for a spouse, decided against it. Instead she adjusted Eiko in her arms and attempt to avoid running into Jikiri, who had been walking in front of her. "Oi, what's your wish, Tokio-san?"  
  
As soon as she said it, Naoya winced. The entire group fell silent, even Tsutomu, who had been riding on Eiji's shoulders. 'Aw, damn my tongue,' Naoya thought, 'Of course, she wishes for Fujita-san to come home. What a stupid thing to ask. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Naoya.'  
  
"I wish..." Tokio's face literally hurt as she turned to smile at her friends. "I wish that all of your wishes will come true." Okita placed his hand gently on Tokio's arm, attempting to reassure her through his touch. "All of your wishes," Tokio said, "Except for yours, Jikiri-chan. I apologize."  
  
They came to a small city park, already filled with celebrants. Children ran with colorful kites, mixing the sky into a whirling kaleidoscope. Paper ribbons fluttered from every stalk of bamboo, and origami cranes sat passively in bushes, waiting for the proper moment to come to life and take flight.  
  
It was a beautiful day, exactly the kind of day Hajime would hate, Tokio knew.  
  
They found a nice spot to lay out a blanket and have their picnic, a gradual hill overlooking a brook. Conversation was lively, and smiles flowed as freely as Tokio's special cherry tea. They spoke of the past, of the present, and of their hopes for the future. They touched on things both trivial and important, uttered words of kindness, and snickered at mild insults behind their hands. They told old jokes and made up new ones.  
  
It broke Tokio's heart.  
  
"How long will you follow me?" He had asked her that very question in a park just like this one.  
  
"Until you stop," she had replied.  
  
The smallest children were sleeping by the time the stars began to peek through the lightly graying sky. Naoya and Chou wandered off to sit under a large tree, and Jikiri, Eiji, and the Narajirous had taken Tsutomu and Fujiko to the stream to dip their toes in the running water.  
  
Tokio loosened her scarf a bit as she busied herself in putting away what remained of dinner into the baskets. The evening air felt nice against her neck. Okita sat near the sleeping children, Tsuyoshi, Eiko and Ichimi, lightly rubbing their stomachs as he watched their friends in the distance.  
  
"Tokio?"  
  
"Mmm? Yes Souji?"  
  
"Do you remember when I showed you how I could imagine springtime in the middle of winter?"  
  
Did she? Tokio racked her mind. Yes. They had gone on a picnic in the middle of winter and Souji, then known to her as Seichii, had...  
  
He had spoken of this.   
  
He had seen a pair of lovers sitting under a tree, exchanging vows. Tokio turned to see Naoya and Chou, curled together beneath a sakura tree. As Naoya bent to whisper in Chou's ear the man -blushed-. Katana-gari Chou was actually blushing.  
  
And Souji had spoken of children, playing in the water. Tokio's gaze turned towards her friends by the creek. Eiji tied up the legs of his hakama, wading into the sun-warmed brook in an attempt to catch one of the fish for an excited Fujiko. But, his attempt botched, and he ended up splashing the onlookers at the shore. Finding this amusing, he zipped his hand into the water and unleashed a miniature tidal-wave at Jikiri.  
  
She screamed, declaring, "Revenge shall belong to this Jikiri, man-child!"  
  
"I see a woman," Souji said, recalling his words as if he had spoken them only yesterday, "Who has been scarred by the world, who has lived through tragedy and learned to smile meekly through pain. A woman with brilliant honey-colored eyes that portray no malice towards any creature. She dances in that field there, dances among the flowers, having thrown off the shackles on her heart. She dances until her scarf flies away in the breeze, to be returned by her children. They join hands and dance in a circle as she raises her lustrous voice towards the heavens and teaches them her favorite song."  
  
"I don't feel much like dancing, Souji," Tokio said, moving to sit by her friend. "And the children here are yet too young to understand my songs."  
  
Okita's brown eyes closed as he laid his hand upon his friend's knee. "I'm sorry, Tokio. If things had been different...if only I had foreseen..." Okita sighed, pensively patting Tokio's leg, "If only I had been two men, as my birth fated, instead of one, I could be protecting you both right now. I did something wrong. Somewhere along the line, I must have made a wrong choice. I just don't know where. I felt so certain..."  
  
"Please Souji, stop. There is nothing you could have done. Nothing you can do."  
  
Okita forced himself to smile. He didn't want to tell her, not now, not on Tanabata. She should have hope. She should always have her hope, at least. But, for a long time now, it had been as if he were unable to sense Saitou. It was like a star had been extinguished, like his light had gone from the world. Was he dead? Was he truly gone?  
  
Tokio wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye, quickly, turning her face away from her friend in an attempt to hide the action. She pressed her lips together grimly, watching Jikiri chase Eiji around the park.   
  
Souji reached up and brushed his thumb across his friend's cheek. She was trying so hard not to cry, he knew. She had been for a long time. Tokio always put on a brave face, always...except in front of Hajime, and in front of him.  
  
"Do you know, Tokio, why he hates to see you cry?"  
  
"Because it means I am weak and selfish."  
  
A bark of a laugh escaped Souji's lips, a throaty sound that pushed through the sob forming beyond his tongue. Was that what she really thought? "No, my friend. He hates it because it makes him confront the fact that he would do anything for your happiness. Every tear you cry is like acid to his soul, bringing him to the realization that everything he has done for Japan is nothing compared to what he would do for you."  
  
"Souji..." Tokio caught her friend's hand at her face and squeezed it tight within her own.  
  
"You shouldn't cry. Think of Orihime-sama." Souji looked at the sky above. His wispy bangs cascaded around his youthfully round cheeks as his eyes reflected shards of the moonlight. "She only gets one day of the year to be with her beloved. Such an exceptionally cruel fate, and yet she weathers it without complaint. Her entire life is spent waiting for that day, over and over. We could think of her as a tragic figure, as a sad and perpetually lonely creature. But, I prefer to think of her as happy. Yes, we must think of her as happy. Happy to know that she'll see her husband again."  
  
Tokio nodded, and looked up at the sky. "Do you really think he'll come back, Souji?"  
  
"Of course. I'd never forgive him if he didn't."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The next day, Okita Souji disappeared from Tokyo. Jikiri found all of his things in place, except for his famous sword and one of his thick coats.  
  
There were two letters and a covered basket left on his desk. The first letter asked his top assistant to take care of the University and Jikiri in his absence.  
  
The second read:  
  
Jikiri-chan,  
  
Please look after my fish. And, please do enjoy the snake jam in the basket. It is very tasty.  
  
Okita S.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Sea of Othotsk. Late October.  
  
How he detested the sea.  
  
And yet, for months now, the sea had been home. The Shikiko and her sister ships traveled the span of the Hokkaido shoreline. They "captured" more Ainu villages, letting the legend of the Black Ship grow.  
  
This was Harada's plan. Legends could never be defeated. The news of the Ships' power would slowly overtake the island. The men of the Tonhen-hei would slowly start to realize that they could join with Harada, that they had a chance to no longer be in servitude to the Meiji government. They could be samurai, once again, and not warrior-farmers in the employ of a system that despised them.   
  
And, slowly but surely, it was working. Every time they stopped at another one of their "captured" Ainu towns, more and more Tonhen-hei would be there, waiting to join up.   
  
Slowly but surely, Harada Sanosuke was building an army.  
  
And yet, something still irked Saitou about the situation. No matter how much sake he drank, no matter how long he stared at the clarity of the never-ending ocean, he couldn't lay his finger on what troubled his mind.   
  
In addition, this battle was taking too long. The sea, and the sake, put Saitou into an irascible stupor. The contingent of men Harada had assigned to Saitou lived in constant fear of his rage. No. This was not a happy journey. This was a grim war. The last war.  
  
Damn the sea...  
  
The sake...  
  
And the monk.  
  
Anji's immense shadow fell on the deck, draping across Saitou's hip. Not understanding the monk's great strength, Harada had put him to work in the kitchen. Anji didn't seem to mind. Peeling potatoes proved much easier work than building a neverending road to Sapporo.  
  
"You're drinking again," Anji observed, putting a bucket of thick radishes down and moving to stand at the railing beside Saitou.   
  
"Do you have a problem with it, monk?"  
  
"Only if you do."  
  
Riddles, as always, from the monk. Anji looked out over the sea, absently sliding his prayer beads over his immense knuckles. They stood in silence for some time, before Anji's quiet voice began anew. "I was the fourth son. Always too timid, too frightened of the world. My brothers were so glad when I entered the monastery. They hoped that I'd be spared the suffering of the world at large, that I would be protected from the cruelty of the streets by those Temple gates. But, suffering will persist. Every living creature suffers. Without it, how could we cherish anything?"  
  
Saitou had stopped really listening. Buddhist dogma, no matter how wise, often proved impractical. "If you have a point, come to it, or go cook your radishes."  
  
Anji closed his eyes as he pressed one of the beads between his thumb and forefinger. "My point is this, Fujita-dono. Things don't always turn out how we plan them. If you had told me when I joined the monastery of all the things which would come to pass in my life, the orphanage, the Juppon Gatana, Abashiri Prison, I would have laughed and thought you mad. But, despite all this, despite my regrets and my pain, I realize that regret is futile. You can't change the past."  
  
"That's it?" Saitou asked, scowling miserably. He'd gone all the way to Abashiri Prison to get Anji released, and that was the -extent- of the moral guidance the man could give?  
  
Saitou was sorely tempted to throw Anji overboard.  
  
"That is it, Fujita-dono. Like I said, I'm a monk, but I'm also just a man. And no man can free another man from his prison. It is always your choice, Fujita-dono, to free yourself."  
  
Yes. Be free of the monk. Throw him into the ocean. Definitely.   
  
"Captain Saitou!"   
  
Looking up from his jug of alcohol, Saitou watched as Sake Subake, Harada's first mate, weaved his way across the length of the deck towards the pair. Something about the man's eyes caused the hair on the back of Saitou's neck to set on end. His ki set Hajime's senses on alert. And why did he always wear that handkerchief around his face? Saitou made a mental note to ask Harada more about Subake.   
  
As Subake came to a stop in front of Saitou, he nodded politely to the monk before beginning. "Captain Harada wants to see you in his quarters."  
  
"Hn."  
  
Saitou walked off without further conversation, and definitely without thanking the monk. Arriving at Harada's quarters with no further incident, he entered without knocking to find Harada pouring over maps.   
  
"Eh! Saitou-kun. Subake found you. Good. I was hoping we could look over these maps, have a drink, and make plans for tomorrow."  
  
Saitou sat in the offered chair and passed his jug of sake to Harada. They'd long since given up on the formality of cups. Harada sat up straight, held the jug up to the picture of the woman hanging on his wall, and gulped down several mouthfuls.  
  
"My wife," Harada explained, noting Saitou's raised eyebrow. "She is the woman who fuels my fight. The good woman who rekindles my flame when it is in danger of burning itself out."  
  
Nagakura's words coming out of Harada's mouth.   
  
"Eh, don't look at me that way, Saitou-kun. I'm not no poet. One of my men said that once. His wife died years ago. I found him working in a prison here in Hokkaido, practically waiting to die. All it took was the offer of a way to end his life valiantly, the invitation to one last good battle, and he joined up."  
  
Saitou's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the picture on the wall. Now he knew why she looked so familiar. Without the expensive robes and paint on her face, she looked a much simpler, much plainer woman. "The oiran you liked."  
  
"Mikiko," Harada said, passing the jug back, "I haven't seen her for over eleven years. My daughter is probably fifteen now. Fifteen and no recollection of her father. But, what could I do? I can't return to Japan. And I certainly couldn't bring them to the wilds of Manchuria. The only choice..."  
  
"Is to make a new place entirely, here in Hokkaido." Saitou finished the man's sentence for him. Things were finally beginning to make sense. Weren't they? Beyond the bite of the sake and the constant rolling of the sea, Saitou wasn't even certain he could tell up from down anymore.  
  
"Aa." Harada stroked his stubble of a beard as he looked at the picture. Kami-sama, he looked so lost. Not like a warrior at all. More like a soulless zombie, one struck with a sickness so long lasting that even the forgetful medicine of sake could provide no hope. 'Is that what I look like when I see Tokio? No. Certainly not.' Saitou winced at being present for the man's momentary weakness and allowed himself more sake for cover. Harada finally shook himself from his reverie and spoke. "What a man wouldn't do for a woman's smile, ne Saitou-kun?"  
  
Saitou didn't like the subject at all, so he changed it. "We won't be able to keep the ships out much longer. Winter is fast approaching. Where do you plan to dock, Harada?"  
  
The two men discussed their plans as over the nearby maps, searching for the best place to get supplies to hold them through the Hokkaido winter. But, it wasn't ten minutes later when a commotion could be heard on the deck. Subake burst through the doors as Harada and Saitou stood, a panicked look evident in his eyes.  
  
"Captain Harada. An Ainu scout reports that Meiji forces have taken Idjilisk, and are marching west towards Blue Cove."  
  
Meiji forces?   
  
"Taken Idjilisk?" Harada's ki flared, almost enough to make Saitou drop the bottle of sake. "But, we had Tonhen-hei stationed there."  
  
"Killed. Everyone in the town was slaughtered, down to the last woman and child. They were deemed traitors, and summarily executed."  
  
Harada was floored. He never expected the Meiji Government to act preemptively. Not so quickly, not here in the remoteness of Northern Hokkaido. Damn. Damn. He had underestimated how desperately the Meiji officials wanted Hokkaido.  
  
"We've got to go to Blue Cove," Anji's voice said, as the monk appeared in the doorway behind Subake. "And we've got to get there before the army. Those people will be slaughtered."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They arrived at Blue Cove just as twilight began to settle on the small town. The four men, Anji, Subake, Harada and Saitou, all stood on deck, taking turns looking through a spyglass at the town.   
  
"I never expected the army," Harada confessed. "It wasn't in Yukishiro-san's plans."  
  
"Tactics were never your strong point, eh, Captain?" Subake said, peering nonchalantly at his superior, as if not worried about reprimand.  
  
Anji's hands gripped the railing so hard that it splintered. "What do you think will happen?"  
  
"When the army gets here, the Ainu and Tonhen-hei will try to fight them with the guns we left behind," Saitou replied, grabbing the spyglass from Harada. "They will be outnumbered. And they will definitely suffer the same fate as Idjilisk."  
  
"We could attempt to cut them off. Fire our cannons at into the Meiji ranks."  
  
"Yes. We could possibly defeat them that way." Saitou was beginning to understand what had caused him to have mixed feeling about this battle. It involved too many innocent people. Harada had used the Ainu, and the Ainu would end up paying in blood for a battle into which they had been forced. "But, the army will just regroup and begin anew."  
  
"It is too soon. We don't have enough Tonhen-hei gathered," Harada confessed, turning his back on the town to look at the sailors gathered on the Shikiko's deck.  
  
"You never intended to win."  
  
All three men just stared at Anji. The monk dipped his head, closing his eyes in deep thought. "None of you intended on winning. You all just wanted one last glorious battle, one more glimpse into the past. You wanted to die as the same men you once were, before time came and swept you into oblivion. But, you've put people in danger because your own hearts were in pain. You can't change the past, but neither can you bring it back. The days of the Shinsengumi are over. Do you think your dead comrades will be more proud of you, just because you've sacrificed yourself to your ideals? Do you think your wife will welcome you with more open arms in the afterlife, just because you died on another man's sword, instead of falling on your own...Nagakura-dono?"  
  
Sake Subake's eyes seemed to tremble as he looked away from Anji. "You knew the whole time..." He removed the handkerchief covering his face and shoved it into his pocket.  
  
"Aa. You only worked at Abashiri for a few weeks after I arrived, but I always remember a man's eyes."  
  
Saitou made a mental note to never underestimate the monk's perceptiveness again. Nagakura. Well, the man must have had his own reasons for keeping his identity a secret, just as Saitou did.   
  
Strange how things always seem to come full circle. Once they had all fought together against the coming of the Meiji Era, and now they fought again to keep the memory of a lost era alive. But, maybe Anji was right. Maybe their era was meant to come to a close. Did it mean that their lives had to end, as well? Were they now little more than useless relics of a time that had fallen by the wayside, of a frame of mind and idealism that no longer had any place in the world?  
  
They never meant to create a new nation in Hokkaido. They had meant to die in the process. Die with their code of loyalty, honor, and courage in tact.   
  
He didn't want Tokio to see him grow old and feeble. Or his son to see him slowly become nothing more than a ghost, a footnote in history beside the words "losing side". Saitou Hajime was not such a man. He was unwaveringly strong. He would fight until the very end, without doubt, regret, or shame. And that is how people would remember him, not as a man who faded away into oblivion.  
  
He had come to Hokkaido to finish becoming a legend.  
  
His motive was assuredly self-serving. And selfishness definitely went against the code of the Shinsengumi. Selfishness had put the kind Ainu which had sheltered he and Anji through the winter into peril. And selfishness would leave Tokio, alone and crying, for the husband who never returned.  
  
"Yare, yare, I have a plan," Saitou said, looking from Harada to Nagakura. "It is dangerous, and it means the end of our designs on Hokkaido. But, in the end, everyone should survive."  
  
"I thought you would, Saitou-kun," Harada replied, clasping a large hand on both of his comrades' shoulders. "You sullen old goat. That's the main reason we keep you around."  
  
"Kill him, Nagakura," Saitou commanded the ex-Captain of the Shinsengumi's Second Troop.  
  
"But, Saitou-kun, he's my commanding officer. That would be mutiny."  
  
"Hn," Saitou lifted his right arm to bring his jug of sake up to the railing, "Better to be a mutineer than led by an idiot."  
  
Nagakura's mouth hung open as he looked from Saitou to Harada, completely taken aback.  
  
"Eh, Nagakura," Harada drawled, "Don't think about it too hard. He's just joking. At least, I hope he's joking. He says everything exactly the same when he's drinking."  
  
"Aa. I'm joking." And, with that, Saitou pushed the bottle of sake, letting it fall with a crash into the sea below. "Now. Let's go."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"She's such a beautiful ship. This is going to break my heart, you know?"  
  
Saitou merely grunted in reply. The three men stood on the cliff overlooking Blue Cove, watching the toil in the town below. Anji, who had learned the most of the native Ainu language during their winter stay, was directing the villagers to produce every gun in town and place it in a covered cart in the town square. The Tonhen-hei were assembling there as well, packed for their journey.  
  
Saitou went over the plan again. "Nagakura, you and three men steer the Shikiko east until you are in sight of the Meiji forces. As soon as you see them, coat the decks with anything flammable you can find. That ship may seem impenetrable, but, I assure you, one cannon shot from the army, and she'll go up in flames. Get on the life boat as soon as possible. Harada, you put all the Tonhen-hei on the Mikiko and the Makoto, and after you pick up Nagakura, head west."  
  
"I know, I know. We've been over this Saitou-kun. I'll sink the Mikiko somewhere north of Sapporo after sending the Tonhen-hei home. The rest of the men can return to Manchuria on the Makoto. And the three of us will meet up in Hakodate at the Osaka Inn in one month. But, what about you? What about the monk?"  
  
"Anji and I will travel west by horseback, to warn the other Ainu villages and the Tonhen-hei stationed there."  
  
"Right."  
  
Nagakura shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. "I don't like this ending. It's like we're giving up without a fight."  
  
"Ack, Nagakura-kun," Harada said, starting down the hill, "The only way to save the Ainu and Tonhen-hei from slaughter is to make it look like they never betrayed the Meiji government. And the only way that the Meiji army will leave is if they think they've defeated us by sinking the Shikiko."  
  
"I suppose. But, I still don't like it."  
  
They met Anji half-way down the hill. The monk looked...well, extremely happy, for once. In fact, he was grinning from ear to ear. "Everything is ready. The Tonhen-hei and the guns are aboard the Mikiko and the Makoto."  
  
"Then, lets go, Anji," Saitou said, brushing past the giant man, "Get the horses."  
  
"I'm not going, Fujita-dono."  
  
Saitou stopped walking. What did the monk say? Through the night's darkness, the Wolf of Mibu could just barely make out another figure at the bottom of the hill, standing alone beside a tree. Ah. So that is why Anji had been chanting so furiously all winter. "So ka?"  
  
"I'm a monk, Fujita-dono, but I'm also just a man. I will stay and protect the people of Blue Cove as long as I am able. Blue Cove...and my...and Mei." At hearing her name, the young woman whose hut they had stayed in the previous winter dislodged herself from the tree and walked up the hill to stand beside Anji.   
  
"Naruhodo. Good riddance to you," Saitou grumbled as Nagakura and Harada joined him in traveling down the hill. "I should have known that anyone who could be beaten by Sagara would have less sense than a rock. If I ever see you again, Yuukyujan Anji..."  
  
"Don't worry, Fujita-dono." Anji swept Mei into his arms. The Ainu woman laughed fiercely, saying something in her native tongue that no one present could understand, "You'll never see me again."  
  
The three ex-Shinsengumi Captains left Anji there, making their way quickly to the road below the hill where the horses the Ainu had provided had been tied to a tree.   
  
"Well, Saitou-kun," Harada said, handing his comrade a pack of supplies, "Until Hakodate, and the Osaka Inn. I look forward to a drink over soba with you."  
  
"Aa." Saitou lit a cigarette, patting the horse's mane to get a feel for the beast.  
  
"Yes, Good-bye, Saitou-kun," Nagakura added.  
  
"Ahou. Don't say good-bye."  
  
Nagakura scratched his head as Saitou turned the horse. "Why not?"  
  
"Bad luck," Harada answered.  
  
Nagakura threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine. Have a good journey then."  
  
Saitou dug his foot into the horse's side, speeding off through the village. The deep October wind swept his grey cape into the air, giving the man the appearance of a terrifying spectre set on laying waste to everything in his path. The Ainu instinctively moved from his path, Saitou's piercing ki like a beacon of warning to even the least trained among them. Harada and Nagakura watched him until he disappeared from sight.  
  
"Never has there been a man more worthy of the title 'Miburo', Nagakura-kun," Harada said, shaking himself from his awe-induced stupor.  
  
"Or the title 'complete asshole'," Nagakura added, grabbing Harada's arm. "Come on, Captain. It is time for the last ride of the Wolves of Mibu."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou rode along the coastline, keeping his horse just far enough inland to reduce the chill rolling off the sea. The crescent moon that night lay low and orange upon the water, like a ship set ablaze upon the sea. Strangely, the air smelled like salt and...like soba. The latter, he knew, was just a trick of the senses. The sea didn't smell at all like soba. More likely some weed or fungus growing nearby produced the familiar scent.   
  
Nonetheless, the concept of the sea smelling like soba made him not hate the ocean quite as much as usual.  
  
The horse beneath him was a reasonably decent steed. Definitely a sacrifice on the part of the Ainu, who had so little. On the other hand, they had Anji now, and the man's strength could more than make up for a horse or two.  
  
Saitou couldn't tell how far he had ridden, only that the night felt as if it had been getting colder with every passing minute. The sound of the shore changed abruptly, becoming muted as if cut off by a curtain of heavy damask. Suddenly, the snow swept over rider and horse, falling first in sugary light flakes, and then turning within minutes to stinging drifts that burned the cold into Saitou's hands and face.  
  
"Damnable capricious Hokkaido weather," Saitou muttered. This had definitely not been in his plans. Who plans for snow in October? Even the meticulous Saitou Hajime couldn't predict -everything-.  
  
He kept his horse going at a brisk pace. No need for the beast to slow down enough to let the cold overtake him.   
  
The snow continued to fall, faster and more heavily than before. It obscured Saitou's view, as well as his hearing. He couldn't even discern the waves of the sea anymore.  
  
The sound of snow. Tokio was right. You never remembered how snow sounded until you were right in the middle of it.  
  
Everything was turning white. Even the horse's mane had become crusted with ice. Though he wore gloves, his hands felt sorely numb.   
  
This land was, truly, hell.  
  
Saitou found himself on the ground, looking up at the stars between drifts of snow. As his consciousness drifted in and out, he realized that his horse lay next to him, rivulets of blood marring the snow as the animal whimpered in pain. He tried pulling himself up, only to find a shooting pain pierce the numbness of the cold. His right arm, broken, and possibly one of his legs, too.   
  
Had he been thrown? What had happened? The snow seemed to obscure everything, blocking out thought, erasing time. At least the pain was minimized by the cold.   
  
Damn.  
  
He'd thought he'd die in Hokkaido, but not like this. This wasn't anything. Being defeated by the weather? How humiliating.  
  
"The snow obscured my view of you for a moment, Hajime."  
  
Tokio?  
  
Saitou opened one eye and turned his head in the direction of her voice. There she was, as plain as day, kneeling in the snow, her sewing basket by her side. Her thick haori, lined with white rabbit fur, lay over her shoulders. She removed the coat and placed it over his torso, gently tucking in the corners at his shoulders. "I do not mean to make a fuss, but you looked cold."  
  
"Tokio..."  
  
"I'll go now. I apologize for interrupting your mission. Please forgive me."  
  
"Tokio!" Her name caught in his throat as she stood, turning to walk back into the snow. "TOKIO!"  
  
She stopped, motionless in the snow for only a moment before she turned around. Those eyes. Those haunting honey-colored eyes, devastating his soul with one look. She wasn't...she was...she was saying 'goodbye' with her eyes.  
  
"See, Hajime. You aren't supposed to turn around."  
  
The snow which fell between them slowly removed the apparition from view, dissolving Tokio into a blur of white nothingness. Saitou's eyes rolled back into his head as he struggled against the cold to stay awake. He fought against the necessity for sleep by attempting to remember every detail he could about his wife, about their home.  
  
The way she smelled of honey, the way her lips tasted. The way she scowled when Naoya cursed. The way her hair fell in her face when in the throes of passion. The way she held their child.  
  
"The snow obscured my view of you for a few minutes."  
  
Tokio? Wait, she'd already said that.  
  
Saitou gathered his last ounce of energy to push his eyes open. Flakes of snow and ice had become caught in the crevices of his face, adhered to his eyelashes and crystallized inside his nose. He blinked, trying to focus on the dark colored blob standing over him.  
  
The blob leaned in close, and appeared to have a head and shoulders.  
  
The face...the face seemed familiar, but something was wrong with it.  
  
"You alive still, Saitou-kun?"  
  
That voice. "Souji?" Saitou mumbled his friend's name hoarsely through snow-numbed lips.  
  
Okita's non-smiling face nodded, the corners of his mouth falling farther into a frightful frown. Saitou felt the man's hand connect forcibly with the left side of his face. Okita had slapped him.  
  
"That's for not telling me where you were going, you arrogant bastard," Okita growled, his round eyes alight with furious anger. His hand balled into a fist, slamming into Saitou's jaw.   
  
"And that's for making Tokio cry."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Warmth. The sound of a fire crackling. The delicious smell of food. Soba. And miso. The hazy lilt of cheerful humming.  
  
And pain in his right leg.  
  
Saitou opened his eyes carefully, trying to discern his location, and with it, the amount of danger in which he might be. Grey morning light streamed into a window above the futon where he lay, illuminating a black-and-white hued view of the room. Nothing more than a two chairs, a table, two futons, wet clothes hanging from a line drawn between the walls, and a fireplace currently being used as a stove.  
  
Saitou closed his eyes again upon hearing footsteps from the other side of the shoji. Someone entered, bringing with them the humming that had plagued Saitou's recent sleep.  
  
"Mmmmm. I like soba, and I like tea, I like turtles and I like bees."  
  
Saitou opened his left eye a crack, and finding his suspicion confirmed, decided the danger was probably minimal.  
  
It was only Souji singing to himself, after all.  
  
"You're awake," Okita chirped gleefully without turning around. "Don't try to get up. Your leg is broken. Your arm is alright, though. Just a sprain."  
  
"You punched me, Okita."  
  
"Hai, hai. Had to knock you out, you know. Was easier to carry you without you complaining that you were strong enough to walk."  
  
"You punched me -twice-."  
  
"Oh?" Okita's shoulders trembled a bit as he attempted to suppress his laughter. "I didn't think you'd remember that."  
  
Saitou grinded his teeth in unimaginable fury. Damn it. Okita was -not- supposed to be here. And where was -here-, anyway?  
  
"We're in Hakodate," Okita explained, as if reading his friend's mind. "We've been here for two weeks. You've been in and out of consciousness since I found you. Miso?"  
  
"No. Sake." Saitou's curled his left hand into a fist. Punching Okita was on the top of his list of things to do. Right above a stiff drink and a cigarette. And then perhaps strangling the other man until he found out what possessed him to come to Hokkaido.  
  
"Sake?" Okita shook his head sadly and leaned forward to stir the miso. "No, I do not think Tokio-san would be very happy with me if I gave you that. You can have miso, or you can have soba. Nothing else. Because, frankly, we don't have anything else. And you might as well give up thoughts of attacking me when I get close to you. You'll just hurt yourself."  
  
Goddamn Okita. For the first time in his life, Saitou wished he had a gun. Not to kill the other man, but definitely to scare him a bit.  
  
"Why are you -here-, Okita?"  
  
Okita's shoulders became rigid, and he stopped stirring. The small man took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before answering. "Just tell me this, Saitou-kun, are you glad that I am here? Or would you have rather died in the snow?"  
  
"Don't ask idiotic questions, Okita."  
  
The insult slipped off of Okita's shoulders like rain on a turtle's shell. "I came to find out what happened to you, of course. To bring you back to Tokio-san. And, when I found out where you went, to knock some sense into you, if necessary."  
  
"How -did- you find out where I went?" Saitou tested his strength, and found he could push himself up somewhat on his right elbow, though his left arm had been bandaged into a sling. "I told no one."  
  
"I beat up Commissioner Kawaji. And then I tortured him for information with my secret-Shinsengumi-torture-techniques." Even without turning around, Okita could feel the death glare directed at the back of his head. "Alright, alright. I just asked Kawaji-san where you were, and volunteered to come find you. It wasn't hard to track you. In Hakodate, you threw some aide out of a carriage. He remembered you pretty well and directed me to Abashiri. I learned about the ships there, and figured you'd gone to find Harada-kun. So, I traveled along the coast, looking for the ships. When I saw the Meiji army marching, I knew I had to be close. I arrived in Blue Cove only a few minutes after you left. Harada-kun and Nagakura-kun told me what was going on, so I borrowed a horse and came after you. Thankfully, I'm a much better rider than you are. Mother nature was never your forte, ne, Saitou-kun? Anyway, I told the Ainu in the next village to send riders to the other towns, warning them of the army's approach. The Ainu were grateful, and helped us get back to Hakodate. We've been here ever since."  
  
Okita dipped a bowl into the pot and brought it over to Saitou. The scowling invalid did, in fact, -not- punch his friend. Instead he took the miso and sipped at it gingerly, appreciating the nourishment more than he thought he would. After a few sips, he asked, "What of Harada? Nagakura?"  
  
Okita's head bowed slightly as he studied his hands in his lap. His voice became wispy, imbued with soft quality that Saitou had heretofore only attributed to women. "Ah. Nagakura didn't make it. When the Meiji army fired on the Shikiko, it didn't catch on fire. Nagakura climbed back on board and set the fires by hand. Unfortunately, the Meiji army fired again before Nagakura could get off the ship. The blast blew him into the water. And they found him, but he was in bad shape. Before he died, he said that he was glad to have died in battle, but he was even more glad that his wife wouldn't have to wait to see him any longer."  
  
"And Harada?"  
  
"I...uh..." Okita scratched the back of his head as his mourning dissolved into embarrassment. "He did just fine. He arrived in Hakodate a week ago. I gave him all the money I brought with me, and put him on a ship to Yokohama harbor. And I sent a telegraph to his wife and daughter to meet him there. They're all on their way to the Americas, as we speak."  
  
"Naruhodo," Saitou said, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief. "So, the plan worked."  
  
"Aa. It worked. The Tonhen-hei returned to their jobs on the farms, and the Meiji Government seems to have forgotten all about the incident. They'd rather the Tonhen-hei continue protecting Hokkaido, than to try to track down all the offenders. And the army retreated after finding no more traitorous Ainu towns."  
  
So.  
  
That was it.  
  
The last war of Mibu's Wolves.  
  
A war that never even took place.  
  
Saitou looked down into his soup bowl. It wasn't the ending he had planned when he started on this trip a year and a half ago.  
  
And yet, regret, as Anji had said, was futile. You couldn't change the past. The days of the Shinsengumi were over. And the future? Who knew. His job, from now on, was just to protect Japan's history, to keep alive the fire of that era so that future generations would know of the brave men who fought so valiantly for their ideals. Even if they had lost, it didn't matter. All that mattered is that they never betrayed their sacred code.  
  
Just like the fourty-seven samurai of Harima.  
  
Except you didn't have to die to be a good man, a warrior unwavering in your ideals. Courage shone in the manner of a man's death, true. But it also could be apparent in the way he lived his life.  
  
"We'll leave for home after the ice breaks, and as soon as I can raise enough money," Okita said, standing to reposition some of the wet clothes hanging in the room. Souji's knee popped as he stretched himself to his minimal height. "Eh, guess I'm getting old."  
  
"Hn," Saitou set the soup bowl down beside his futon, a strange sleepiness overtaking his system with each breath, dragging his thoughts into a mire of sluggishness. Okita probably drugged the broth, but really, right now, Saitou didn't care. Besides, he'd have it out with the man when he felt stronger. "How's Tokio?"  
  
"She's fine, Saitou-kun. And she's waiting, as ever she does, for your return."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Ah. The next chapter is the last chapter. So, I can say no more than this: With old friends and new, partings and beginnings, Hajime and Tokio will finally come to an end.  
  
***Author Notes:   
  
I wrote half of this while mildly drunk, which, in retrospect, probably wasn't a good idea.   
  
The title of this chapter is taken from Taku Iwasaki's "Wars of the Last Wolves", which is on the soundtrack from the first of the OVAs.   
  
I took a few days off of H&T to finish the first chapter of a story dealing with Shinomori Aoshi, called "Sundial". I, personally, don't think I have any sort of grasp on Aoshi's mind, so I thought I'd poke at it with a new sort of stick.   
  
***Fan Art Contest:   
  
Again, nothing new on this front. I'm still hoping for more entries, though. The contest will run until a week after the epilogue is posted. The details should be in section "14" of the ff.net archive of this story.  
  
***Chronicle and Historical Notes:  
  
I should have mentioned it in the last chapter, but we are obviously at the end of the manga. So, what is left? Er. *duck* Seisouhen. *vegetables are thrown at Angrybee* I know, I know, I said the -naughty- word. This is going to be a -very- mildly revised Seisouhen, which will only touch on that tragic event we all loathe to consider.  
  
Okay. I know Enishi really didn't much give a damn about the Meiji government. He did everything for his revenge against Kenshin. On the other hand, I can see him setting up Harada in the hopes that he'd have someplace to retire to after defeating Kenshin. Or, maybe he just wanted to create more chaos for the men who hired the assassin that ended up killing Tomoe.  
  
Tanabata: Most of the information in the story should be close to or dead-on correct. There are, however, other theories of the 'significance' of Tanabata, one involving gods that were only allowed to meet on the day the Emperor of Heaven was away on a yearly pilgrimage to a certain temple, as well as several others.  
  
Jikiri's uniform: I did some research, and, yes, school uniforms first began to be popular during the Meiji era. Girls uniforms were based off a naval theme, and boys uniforms were based off an army theme. As you can see from much anime, this even persists today!  
  
The Makoto: This is not a reference to Shishio, but a reference to the flag of the Shinsengumi, which bore the kanji "makoto". I've found several translations for the word: truth, sincerity, and loyalty.   
  
The Ainu: The Ainu race still persists in Japan today, and it is said that over 100k Japanese have Ainu heritage. The Ainu did try several uprisings against the Meiji government. All of the rebellions were squashed. Very little of their original culture remains.  
  
The Tonhen-hei was officially dissolved only a few years later, in the mid 1880's, I believe.   
  
I made up the stuff about Nagakura's wife. He did work in a prison in Hokkaido some years after he left the Shinsengumi.   
  
***Character Notes:  
  
Harada Sanosuke: Harada did, indeed, reputedly marry the prostitute he fell in love with during the Bakumatsu. In addition, he was indeed from a "lower class", possibly a farmer's son, which apparently caused him to receive no end of grief from some of the other, more "upper class" Shinsengumi members.  
  
Harada Shikiko: I figured that even though her father couldn't live in Japan, he'd somehow been smuggling money to his wife, which she used to send Shikiko to school. Of course, it is never blatantly stated, but the Shikiko and Mikiko ships are named after Harada's daughter and wife, respectively.  
  
Anji: Much of Anji's "moral guidance", such as his short speech on suffering, are based of various books on Buddhism which I have read. In the end, I just wanted Anji to end up somewhere, and be happy about it.   
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Yatta: Hooray. Or, "Yay, I've done it!"  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
A giant thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. It seems like just about -everyone- has a different opinion on my editing out OKita being Jikiri's father. Well, I'll probably have to think about it some more.  
  
As always, I do very much enjoy your reviews. It is so good to know what brings you back to this story, and which parts you could do without. Your words really do help me write this story. So, once again, a great big "Thank You So Much With Cherries And Soba And Cats and Rat-Girls and Shukos And Snowflakes And Mochi And Cigarettes And Snake Jam and Cross-Dressers And Ninjas And Bad Piggies And Chickens And Katanas And A Big Bouquet Of Eiji's Flowers On Top," to: me me me and only me, Wolfgirl13 (Hope you like this one!), JadeGoddess, ^_^ (Thanks for reviewing!).  
  
Charmed-Anime: Matchmaker, huh? I never thought about it that way. I believe, however, in a secret land that you can see when you are asleep, and all the characters you have ever wronged come and chew on your brains while you are dreaming. So, I better not mess up TOO badly.  
  
bobo3: Aha! A cat lover. My cat is named "Huxley" after the author "Aldous Huxley". Huxley is a sort of grumpy feline who likes to gnaw on my head to wake me up in the morning. I'm glad you liked the ninja arc. Crazy ass ninjas, eh? So unpredictable and *Angrybee gets a shuriken in the eyeball*.  
  
Cherry Delight: Heh Heh heh. Well, at least she didn't delve into describing Hajime's "katana". *twitch* And what sort of animal -should- Eiko, Naoya and Chou's child, be? I'm running out of fuzzy mammals here. I agree with you. Commissioner Kawaji, shame on you for reading mail! Tsutomu and Kenji...eh? Well, that reminds me of this story I wrote where Tsutomu and Kenji started out as rivals and ended up being best friends. But...you know...not THAT kind of friends...  
  
darktenshi: The research is not so hard. The only problem is that, since I get it off the internet, I can't always tell if there are problems with the facts, or misspellings of the words. Yah! And Naoya and Chou having a baby? Sooooooo frightening. Of Sano thought Tsutomu was the antichrist, geez, Eiko will be the devil herself.  
  
Kenta D: Hmmm. Historical novels, huh? You know, that might be a good idea. Historical fiction has always appealed to me. I don't mind the research as much as I thought I would. As for Saitou's new cat, I feel bad that I didn't put Midnight in this chapter. :( Oh well.  
  
caitlin: Ah, how we do all love the humor fics, eh? Anyway, Saitou is in for a big surprise when he gets back home, huh? Although, I'm pretty sure Okita will tell him about his new son -before- they get back Tokyo. The Eiji-Jikiri connection? I don't know, I kinda like them together. He's so laid back, and she's so grumpy all the time. Cracks me up.  
  
Pretty Silver Fox: Three times? Wow. I haven't even read it all the way through. (I'm waiting until I finish, because I know I will be tempted to edit the chapters if I read them again.) And thank you so much for your kind words. They are highly appreciated. :D  
  
kawaii: Thank you so much. I'm very glad that you are enjoying the story. Yes, the mystery of Saitou's Hokkaido trip in Kaden always just made me...annoyed. What is he DOING THERE? Where is his WIFE? I want to find Watsuki and shake him until he lets me in on the secret.  
  
The Narrator: Oh no. Caring about Saitou? Might be a -crime-. And, yes, you are right about the third son. Damn you for figuring it all out based on what still needs to happen. *wink* Yikes. A conversation between Saitou and Kenshin about their wives? I imagine it something like this: Kenshin: Kaoru-dono is so pretty, when she kisses me she... Saitou: Shut up. Kenshin: I thought you wanted to have a conversation about our wives. Saitou: No. That was just my cover for you to let me in the dojo. *Gatotsu*  
  
eriesalia: Saitou is truly riveting, no? He has a sort of charisma that I wish I could imitate. A story about Anji? Oh neat! I can't wait to read it. Anji really is one of my very favorite characters, and I feel like there just isn't enough written about him. Happy New Year to you, as well!  
  
aiteane: Yeah. I think aging has to be particularly frightening for men who depend on their physical strength to make their way in the world. Breaking down. Hmm. I thought it was something that needed to be addressed. And poor Okita, now Fujiko can't figure out if he is a girl, either...  
  
vegetachanlover: Wow. I think your review was about as long as the chapter itself!!! Chuckle. I can't believe you liked that chapter so much, but if you did, I'm certainly glad. I think I used the phrase "mini-ninja" in my new story "Sundial" as well. I keep using the same stuff over and over. I am -definitely- grace-challenged. I took Aikido for a while to try to correct the problem, but it ended up cutting into my writing time. Now I just practice with my blowdarts, instead. The bit with Chou scratching his nose with the sword is from the manga. Of course, I've only read the online translations, so I might not be interpreting it correctly. I agree about dead people not staying dead. You just can't kill anyone in the anime world, it seems. As for Eiji, well, Jikiri is only a year and a half older. Maybe two years. Sure, it is a lot at their age...  
  
LSR-7: Belly-button dance? How hilarious! I've only seen the pictures of Hokkaido online, but it looks like a much nicer place than I've described in the story. Lots of people take vacations there, from what I understand.   
  
cardinal: Seta Soujiro? I'm not sure how old he is in the anime. I've heard everything from sixteen to eighteen. I tend to go with eighteen, but based on the timeline, sixteen seems to be more likely.   
  
ione_girl: Ack. So sorry I haven't gotten around to reading and reviewing your newest chapter yet. I've been working like a dog to get H&T finished. I'm so looking forward to the end, because then I will have so much more time to read all the stories I enjoy so much. Okita is, indeed, very cute. I do not know from whence my Okita fascination comes. He's just about the perfect pocket character for any author. Take him anywhere, teehee!  
  
ChiisaiLammy: It was so hard to write Tokio's letter, because I didn't really think she'd actually try to write her husband such an extensive missive. More one like: "You have a new son. His name is Tsuyoshi. I'm alright. Sorry to bother you." Chuckle. Anyway, very glad you enjoyed the chapter!!  
  
Veleda: Anji rocks. I've been wanting to work him back in ever since he saved Saitou from the Giant Flaming Pit, but didn't get a chance until now. I don't get it. Everyone says Naoya and Chou shouldn't be breeding. It's like you guys think Chou might toss the kid up in the air and catch him on the end of a katana or something. *snickergigglesnicker*  
  
Tenniyo: Well, I had to let Naoya look pretty at least -once-. Everyone deserves to be a pretty pretty princess on their wedding day, ne? Well, now I shall have to endeavor to write a story you will not enjoy, just to prove you wrong. Hah! How about a romance between Shishio and Yahiko? Oh. No. Mental image. Must...pour...acid...on brain.  
  
IceRain: NHK channel? No. We do not get that here. WAH! I want to see this Shinsengumi drama! And, yes, Harada was really the captain of the 10th squad of the Shinsengumi.  
  
Catnip: Ansy, huh? Well, I won't abandon you guys, I promise. A lot of people have said that Eiji and Jikiri is "creepy". Hell! Saitou and Tokio are -creepy-, Eiji and Jikiri are just young, I think. Well, you'll see what happens between the two in the last chapter.  
  
nakeru: I can't wait to see what you turn out for the fan-art contest. It will be really exciting to have another entry. And, I am truly glad that you are enjoying the story. :D  
  
Animyth: Well, I hope this chapter has rectified your blah feeling, at least a little. :D Anyway, I don't know what you are talking about. This story is completely happy, and angst-free. (Teehee.) Ok. Maybe just a pinch of angst, but not too much, I hope. Anyway, even if you do not like the end, I assure you, you'll like the epilogue. It is quite amusing.  
  
Crystal Renee: Wow. Glad you are still chugging through this massive iceberg of a story. :D By the time you get to this chapter, the story might be at an end!! :D :D Thanks again for reviewing. 


	23. Chapter 22: The Symphony of Snow

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 22 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
There is nothing quite like the river of time. One moment gentle, the next plunging into rapids, becoming wide, then narrowing, but always dashing forwards. No man can build a dam to harness its strength. No woman can cry enough tears to overflow its banks.   
  
But, at the end, there is the promise of the sea. The river of time spills its secrets there. This ocean stretches on forever, filled with memories, swimming with strong currents of every possible emotion, lined with waves of sighs and ripples of laughter that no living ear can hear.  
  
In the sea, all rivers become one, once again. In joyous revel, no soul is distinguishable from another. They exalt the sky in continuous worship of the day when the clouds come...  
  
To take into their silvery bower the souls of the departed. To draw them out and bestow yet another chance to begin rivers anew...  
  
As rain...  
  
Or as snow.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
December 1893. Tokyo. 14 Years after Saitou Hajime left for Hokkaido.  
  
"I don't know about this." The ten year old kicked the side of the tree beside which a large, round stone had been placed. "We could get in -big- trouble, you know?"  
  
"No one asked you to come, ototo. So, shut up." Tsutomu squatted down by the rock. It was at least twice as big as his head. "I tell you, it's a grave marker. Mother's been coming out to this grove every month for as long as I can remember, and she always sits right by this rock, talks to it, and leaves a little basket of food here."  
  
"Unless she just randomly picked a rock and decided to treat it to dinner every so often." This sarcastic comment came from the tallest of the trio, Tsuyoshi. He was hanging upside-down from the lowest branch on the tree, occasionally pulling off leaves and depositing them in his youngest brother's hair.  
  
"Whatever it is, we'd best leave it alone." Little Tatsuo reached up and scratched at his suddenly itchy head, dislodging a precariously balanced pile of leaves. "Or we could just ask Naoya-san..."  
  
"No!" Tsutomu snarled. The other two brothers bristled slightly, regretting bringing up the Sawagejou family to Tsutomu. Over the last few months, their fearless leader had been acting more and more strangely every time that particular subject entered the conversation. They'd decided it had something to do with the fact that Sawagejou Eiko was a girl.  
  
"What about Eiji-nii?"  
  
Tsutomu shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. He glared at Tatsuo. Unlike the other two boys, Tatsuo had brilliant green eyes the color of summer grass. In addition, he possessed stark white hair so ephemeral that it had to be tied into a tight ponytail at the crown of his head to keep it from blowing into his eyes at the lightest breeze. A star-shaped birthmark marred Tatsuo's face just beside his left eye. The boy's exotic looks made him the constant object of torment by other children, causing his brothers no end of grief in having to perpetually rescue him. But, that didn't mean they wouldn't tease him for being a sissy momma's boy when no one else was around. "No. We're digging it up," Tsutomu finally announced, "And if you don't like it, you can go home. But, don't you -dare- tell anyone. If you do, I'll put you in the grave before I cover it back over."  
  
"Yeah," Tsuyoshi added, "And we'll put spiders in there, too." The middle brother executed a graceful flip out of the tree and came to land beside Tatsuo. He grabbed the boy in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles into Tatsuo's white hair. "And we know how much you like spiders, huh?"  
  
"Itai, Yoshi-chan!"  
  
Tsuyoshi dropped his brother into the grass without another thought, and reached into his gi, pulling out a small bag of orange candy bearing the Snowflake Sweets logo.   
  
"Hey, where'd you get that?" Tatsuo asked, standing up and dusting off his hakama.   
  
Tsuyoshi rolled his eyes. "Out of my -gi-. Duh." As Tatsuo attempted to reach for the candy, Tsuyoshi moved his hand upwards, placing the treats just out of Tatsuo's reach.   
  
"Not for you, squirt-midget-baby-dwarf."  
  
"Would you two bakas shut up? I've never -heard- of such idiocy." Tsutomu shot both of his brothers another deadly glare, and instantly, they both obeyed. Tsuyoshi lowered the candy and, despite all the taunting, shared it with Tatsuo anyway.  
  
"I bet Mother has the corpse of her first husband in here," Tsutomu opined.  
  
Tatsuo immediately objected. "Nuh-uh. That's not true. She's only been married once."  
  
Tsuyoshi rolled his eyes, "If that is true, how come you've got white hair and green eyes, and Tsu-chan and I both have black hair and gold eyes?"  
  
Tatsuo looked prepared to object, but then just formed his mouth into a little round "O" and hung his head, sulking openly.   
  
Taking the spade he'd brought along from their house, Tsutomu began to work. The recent rains made the ground soft, and his task subsequently easier than planned. He dug diligently, attempting to ignore the moronic conversations which would occasionally spring up between his two younger brothers. Tsuyoshi's biting sarcasm and quick wit always amused Tsutomu, but not when used against Tatsuo. Their youngest brother was generally too naive and innocent to understand the jests. Insulting Tatsuo was like beating your fist repeatedly against a stone wall and expecting it to act offended.  
  
The loam of the damp winter ground made his hands a bit numb, but he continued nonetheless. Digging like this always made Tsutomu think of his adopted brother Eiji's gardens and the Tokyo Women's University greenhouse where Eiji worked. At least Eiji wasn't prone to jabbering on like Tsutomu's younger brothers. Unless, of course, you snuck up on him while he was talking to one of his favorite plants. Then you could hear Eiji drone on and on and on about this flower or that seedling, the best dirt for growing, exactly how much light something needed. Otherwise, Eiji-nii was a pretty quiet fellow, always doing something with his hands, but at the same time laid back. The world ran slower for Eiji, or at least, that is what Eiji, himself, always said.  
  
In the end, they probably could have asked Eiji, but Tsutomu thought literally uncovering the mystery himself was the whole fun in the project. And, it wasn't like his Mother would know. There was a whole month for the grass to grow back before she'd visit again. As theories and conspiracies whirled through the boy's head, he said, "See, I bet she killed her first husband, and the buried him out here so no one would know."  
  
"Killed him with what? Her sewing needles? Poisoned mochi?" Tsuyoshi clicked his tongue. Their mother might have a morose streak, but not -that- morose. "I bet he got into a fight with another man over her and they dueled to the death."  
  
"That's so romantic," Tatsuo said with a sigh.  
  
Tsuyoshi snorted and poked his brother's forehead with one outstretched finger, "You keep talking like that and you're going to grow up to be a girl."  
  
"Really?"  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded in the most sincere manner possible.  
  
"Duel to the death? Ridiculous," Tsutomu replied. He didn't care how feasible his brother's theory sounded, it was his duty to lambaste it anyway. He felt his spade hit something hard. "Yatta! I found something."   
  
There was no reply. Not a squeal of horror from Tatsuo. Not an excited comment from Tsuyoshi. Nothing.  
  
"Hey, I said that..." Tsutomu turned around and immediately fumbled his shovel. His jaw dropped, leaving his mouth gaping.  
  
He was in trouble now.  
  
Both of his two younger brothers were being held in the air by the backs of their gis. The newest addition to their company exhaled smoke out of his nose as he pressed his lips together to hold a cigarette in place. A mortifyingly cross gaze remained fixed on Tsutomu's face as the man took a step forward and deposited the two younger boys on the ground.  
  
"Sit," Saitou commanded, removing the cigarette from his lips and crossing his arms. He tapped his fingers lightly on the sleeve of his police uniform, watching all three of his sons like a disturbingly efficient hawk surveying a choice of prey.  
  
Tsutomu's ever-serious face sported a mild frown.  
  
Tsuyoshi grinned roguishly, as he always did when he got caught doing something bad.  
  
And Tatsuo looked like he wanted to cry.  
  
None of the boys spoke a single word. They'd been caught, and lying now would only make the punishment more severe. Father could -always- smell a lie. They just had to wait, which was usually the worst part, anyway. Their father always knew the perfect punishment to fit every crime, but imagining what the punishment might be was its own sort of hell.  
  
"You..." Saitou pointed at his youngest son. Tatsuo's head bent forward, trying to hide his green eyes behind the wisps of white hair that escaped his high ponytail. "Stop believing everything your brothers tell you."  
  
Tatsuo attempted to reply, but just ended up emitting a squeak with his nod.  
  
"And you..." Now it was Tsuyoshi's turn. The thirteen year old's grin grew even wider. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face when I'm talking to you." Tsuyoshi made an effort, but in the end, the natural defense mechanism won out, and the grin returned. He shrugged at his father, indicating that he could do no more. Saitou's left eye twitched. Pointing at his middle son, he said, "You stop telling your brother lies."  
  
Tsuyoshi swallowed hard and nodded, the smile still plastered to his face.   
  
"Now both of you get up and go home. I'll deal with you when I get back. Right now..." Saitou's gaze returned to his oldest son, "I want to talk to your ahou brother. Alone."  
  
The two youngest boys both stood, each giving Tsutomu a quick pitying look before running at top speed towards the nearby dirt road.   
  
Once they were alone, Saitou took a deep breath, letting it come out of his nose in a sigh somewhere between pissed and furious. Sighing. That was a new one. But having three growing boys could drive a man to such extremes.   
  
Tsutomu. Saitou had thought that sending the boy to Kozue for training six months out of the year would instill some sort of discipline in his son. Instead, Tsutomu and Tsuyoshi had returned last month still as rebellious and troublesome as always. Left alone, however, Tsuyoshi would never think up such plans. No, Tsutomu was the leader of all of their escapades.  
  
As the chilly winter breeze blew between father and son, Saitou surveyed Tsutomu. If Tsuyoshi looked like his father, tall and lanky, then Tsutomu definitely looked like his mother. He had her svelte face, lean and catlike, with pronounced cheek bones and small ears. Long black hair, as shiny as a jaguar's coat, was bound at the nape of his neck in a ponytail.   
  
Yes. He looked like his mother, but he definitely had his father's temperament.   
  
Saitou had seen the three boys slinking down the street as he arrived home. Conspiratorial glances between the trio had alerted their father to impending misdeeds, leaving the Fujita family patron no choice but to follow them. But, he never thought they would be up to -this-.  
  
"Yare, yare, what do you have to say for yourself, Tsutomu?"  
  
The boy fought against the impulse to squirm. "I just wanted to know...who was so important to Mother..."  
  
"So ka?" This would be interesting, Saitou decided. "Then why don't you find out?"  
  
Tsutomu's eyes grew wide with the realization of what his father was telling him to do. "You want me to..."  
  
"Dig it up. Find out what's inside. Or have you lost your nerve?"  
  
Of course he hadn't lost his nerve. Of course not. But, with his father egging him on, Tsutomu felt his stomach flip. Maybe...just maybe...there was some horrible secret inside. Maybe there really was a corpse, or maybe even something worse. What could be worse than a corpse, Tsutomu wasn't certain. But, with his father looking at him like that, Tsutomu was pretty sure he was about to find out.  
  
The boy bent down and dug a bit more, resolving not to falter under his father's gaze. A rectangular shape began to form beneath Tsutomu's toiling hands. The box wasn't large, only about the length of his fingertip to his elbow, and appeared to be made of lacquered cherry wood. With some effort, Tsutomu dislodged it from the ground and set it next to the hole.  
  
"Open it."  
  
"That's alright, father, I don't care anymore..."  
  
"Open. It."  
  
Tsutomu clenched his jaw, preparing himself for the worst as he fumbled with the rope and wood latches on the side of the box. He pried the top up with one hand, leaning away from the contraption just in case the undead warrior hoards of hell decided to spring out.  
  
But, nothing did jump out. Instead, a deep green silk-lined interior held a smattering of bleached white objects.  
  
Bones.  
  
His interest captured, Tsutomu leaned forward and removed one. He turned it over in his hands, trying to comprehend the meaning of a box which would contain...a cat's skull.  
  
"I don't understand," Tsutomu finally confessed, depositing the skull back in the box. He looked up at his father who appeared to be suppressing an wicked laugh behind his hard glare.  
  
"Your mother loved that damn cat. Doted on it. Even named her store after it. The thing died in the spring of eighty-two. She buried it out here for Kami-sama knows what reason."  
  
"Oh." Tsutomu felt more than vaguely relieved. They'd only ever had one cat, as far as he could remember. Midnight. But, Midnight belonged to Tatsuo, since the vicious old minx bit anyone else who came near.  
  
"Now," Saitou intoned, "You have two choices. You can go home and tell your mother you dug up her beloved dead pet. Or, you can stand up, take that shinai off your back, and fight me. I want to know if that training sunk into that thick skull of yours, or if you've been goofing off in Osaka, too."  
  
Tsutomu weighed his options for only a moment. At least if he fought, his punishment would be over quickly. If he told his mother what he had done, she'd spend the rest of the week giving him...that look. That horribly hurt and disappointed look which made him feel lower than a dung beetle.   
  
Saitou's eldest son stood up after placing the box back in the ground and re-covering it with dirt. He wiped his hands on his hakama before reaching up to pull his shinai from his back. His father, Tsutomu knew, had some skill with a sword once, or so people said. He'd fought in some wars, and still carried his katana everywhere. Yet, Tsutomu had only ever seen his father use it when they practiced kata in the evenings. But, he was an old man. His late forties. To Tsutomu, that was -practically- ancient.  
  
Tsutomu set himself into the second position, just like Kozue-sensei had taught him. He held his shinai outstretched, parallel to the ground. Pulling his left shoulder back a bit, he bent his knees, and waited.  
  
"Aren't you going to draw your katana?"  
  
Saitou snorted in response. Draw his katana? No. He wasn't even going to stop smoking his cigarette. "Come at me."  
  
As ordered, Tsutomu let out a formidable battlecry and charged his father. 'Aim for the jaw', the boy told himself. Tsutomu lunged at the last second, swinging his shinai towards his father's impassive face.  
  
The next thing Tsutomu knew, his father was standing over him, holding the shinai in his left hand. Saitou dropped the bamboo sword beside the boy's hand as Tsutomu reached up and grabbed the spot on his shoulder where pain began to blossom.  
  
So fast, and with just one hand...his father had caught the swing. Then he'd used his other fist to knock the boy to the ground.  
  
And he hadn't even stopped smoking.  
  
"Move your arm."  
  
Tsutomu complied. It hurt, but it wasn't broken.   
  
Saitou squatted down beside his son as the boy sat up. Evening was fast approaching, the sky swathing itself in robes of purples and oranges as both father and son sat silently together. The trees in the distance all danced franticly with the wind, a ballet of limbs and leaves that held no synchronicity. Finally, Tsutomu worked up the courage to ask, "How'd you win? I did everything Kozue-sensei taught, and I did it right."  
  
"Who do you think taught Kozue?"  
  
A long pause cut the conversation before Tsutomu murmured, "Oh."  
  
Saitou picked up the shinai and turned it over in his hands. It had been a long time since he'd used such a weapon. He'd been younger than Tsutomu then, and just as brash and unwilling to listen to anyone's advice or warnings. Despite his failings, Tsutomu had a good heart. He protected his brothers, he practically worshipped Eiji, and though he didn't hang off her skirt like Tatsuo tended to do, he genuinely cared for his mother.  
  
He'd turn out to be a very good Meiji Era gentleman someday. Someday.   
  
"I won because I have discipline. Not only of the body, but of the mind and spirit. Fighting has less to do with the skill, speed, or strength of your sword than the caliber of the man who swings it. Do you know your worth? Your ideals? If you do not know who you are, and what you believe, how can you expect to know your enemy? Discipline -yourself-, Tsutomu, and someday, after you understand the warrior within your soul, you'll stand equal to your father."  
  
Tsutomu thought this over for a while as his father handed him the shinai. His father had never spoken to him in such a manner before. Most of their previous communication revolved around Saitou telling his eldest son to be less of an idiot, or doling out punishments for something Tsutomu had done. Well...discipline, huh? It sounded grueling, but maybe.... "Father?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Can we spar again soon?"  
  
"Aa. Every week."  
  
"Do I still have to tell mother about digging up her cat?"  
  
Saitou stood, extending a hand to pull his son up, "Not if you know what's good for you."  
  
"Uh,...okay." Tsutomu took a big breath of relief.  
  
As the pair walked together towards the road, Saitou put a hand on his son's shoulder, "Let me tell you a story about the day your mother decided to cook a chicken..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
One month later.  
  
"A little bit of blue, a little bit of pink pink pink..."  
  
He'd been working on that same damn painting for the last fifteen years.  
  
The tiny woman pressed herself against the far shoji, the longer of her two kodachis already drawn. She kept her eyes focused on her prey's back as he swayed back and forth, taking in the canvas from different angles. Okita brought the wooden end of his paintbrush to his lips, adding yet another set of teeth marks as he held it in his mouth.  
  
The assassin which had once terrified the police of Kyoto flexed her naked left foot, curving it until only her big toe touched the ground. She'd dash when he turned to add more paint to his palette. Yes. Then he would be turned at an awkward angle, and there would be nothing he could do.  
  
"Ah, flowers for the pattern. Sakura or...no...not flowers at all. Stars. Hai, hai. -Stars-. Brilliant, Souji. Thank you very much, Souji. No, thank-you, Souji."  
  
She'd have to be quick. Very quick, or be in danger of being sensed. Nakenashi the Ghost had never had such troubles, but she would have never prevailed. No, only -Jikiri- had the experience and patience to win this battle. Yes, this had gone on -far- too long...  
  
The evening's shadows would assist in the endeavor.  
  
She'd tied back both her sleeves and in an effort to make attack noiseless. She'd subdued her ki with meditation and the practiced skill of a ninja. She'd even gone through a rigorous schedule of stretching and limbering her body over the past week.  
  
'Okita-san will never know what hit him.'  
  
"The moon, the moon, as good as a spoon, to scoop up the light and put it...put it... Ah, I've run out of moon. Where'd I put that color, Souji? I don't know, Souji. Under the blue, perhaps? Hai, hai..."  
  
Jikiri leapt forward as soon as Okita turned to look through the tiny pots of color. The movement of every muscle calculated, every inch of air in her lungs expelled, Jikiri rushed towards the man at the easel. She slipped to his blind side with a final flounce, and when Okita turned back to the canvas, he found a kodachi blade under his chin.  
  
Okita's gaze dipped downwards, and then slid along the blade until he could see the arm holding it. "Not a fan of art, Jikiri?"  
  
"You're our hostage now, and you must meet our demands," Jikiri hissed. "Lest you wish to face the most drastic of consequences."  
  
"Demands? So ka? And what would those be?"  
  
Jikiri paused for a moment. What -were- her demands? Oh yes. "This Jikiri demands you fire Eiji. You must make him go."  
  
Okita pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep himself from smiling. "But, who would teach botany and horticulture? Who would keep the gardens? Who would drive Jikiri to wits end on a daily basis?"  
  
"Feh, Okita-san, this isn't supposed to be funny. You're my hostage."  
  
Okita held up his hands and put on his best possible 'serious' face. "Oh yes. I'm quite frightened, I promise. Do continue..."  
  
"We also demand a feast in the form of dumplings and kampyo."  
  
"Ah, Jikiri, are you asking me to accompany you to dinner?"  
  
Jikiri withdrew her kodachi and put her hands on her hips, pouting through her scowl. "You knew this Jikiri was there, hiding in the shadows. You knew, didn't you, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita shook his head as fervently as possible, "No, no. I was completely surprised this time."  
  
"Mmm." Jikiri leaned forward to sniff her mentor's shoulder, "You smell of lies!"  
  
"Well...I..." Okita decided to change the subject. Jikiri's attempts to sneak up on him, so far, had failed. She tried to defeat his ability to sense ki on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis, but could not seem to prevail. But, he definitely enjoyed the ritual nonetheless. "Say, weren't we speaking of dinner?"  
  
"Yes. Can Jikiri drag you away from your beloved painting long enough to indulge in a feast? Naoya-san made it before I returned."  
  
"Hai, hai. Mustn't paint on an empty stomach. Shall we have a picnic here in the office?"  
  
Jikiri chuckled as she crossed the room to retrieve the basket of food. Okita grinned. The years had not changed her much. She'd grown a few inches in her late teenage years, thankfully, but still stood a good half-head shorter than him. Her hair had gained some length but no matter how much Naoya fussed at her to wear it in a more contemporary style, Jikirijust kept it in a thick and practical braid, which she twisted into a loop which hung at the nape of her neck. Unfortunately, she hadn't filled out in more womanly ways, and still looked sometimes like a boy trying to pass as a girl.  
  
Okita took a small blanket out of the cabinet and spread it on the floor. They ate like this often, neither of them having much time for a formal dinner. Jikiri worked now as the school's headmistress of both security and discipline. The job was demanding, as many of the girls came from wealthy families, lending to attitude problems as well as longstanding rivalries and outside enemies looking for easy targets. At first, Okita had attempted to have Jikiri teach kendo. It turned into a disaster. Apparently Jikiri was no good at -teaching- sword skills, only using her own to dispatch opponents. Several of the girls had ended up hospitalized.  
  
But the school was growing, and for that, Okita was thankful. They had added several new buildings over the last fifteen years, notably a western greenhouse. And Okita could think of no one better to take care of it, and teach the young women botany, than Mishima Eiji.  
  
Okita almost giggled at his own craftiness. Him? Play matchmaker? Never. It was a coincidence. Yes, just a coincidence that he had maneuvered two of his favorite people to have to work together.  
  
"Now, that's not a good smile at all, Okita-san. Are you being wicked behind those eyes?"  
  
Okita kneeled down on the blanket beside Jikiri as she began to unpack the food. "I'm hurt, Jikiri, truly I...oh...there really are dumplings."  
  
"Aa. Naoya-san said you'd like that." Jikiri passed the bowl to her mentor.   
  
Okita pulled out one of the dumplings and popped it in his mouth. Naoya really had turned into such a great cook, and her dumplings were divine. Everyone agreed, even Tokio. Such an odd thing, the knowledges of women, secret skills passed from one to another like sword styles. You could definitely tell the influence of master on student in both. And now, Eiko would be next. She'd conquer the basics and then add her own flare into the mix.   
  
"How did it go? With Naoya and Chou, that is? Did they approve of my plan?"  
  
Jikiri nodded as she lifted one of the kampyo with her chopsticks, "Quite. Naoya said, 'Tell Okita-san that he's brilliant, and if he weren't so short, and so old, I'd kiss him.'"  
  
"Aie! I'm not that old. I refuse to be old. Now, Saitou-san, -he's- old."  
  
Jikiri said -nothing-.  
  
"I'm not fifty yet. I still have some years to go!"  
  
Still -nothing-.  
  
"I've got all my teeth See?!"  
  
"Yes, yes, Okita-san, yes, yes."  
  
"Don't placate me like I am an old man."  
  
"No, this Jikiri is placating you like a little boy."  
  
Okita laughed quite hard at this, and ended up almost choking on his food. He liked this. Yes. This was the best. Just sitting here with Jikiri. Eating. Talking. Not a care in the world to be had. You could go to the ends of the world in search of delectable earthly pleasures, fight a thousand battles for your ideals, and witness the dawning of a new era. And still, nothing would compare to a simple meal shared with a kindred spirit.  
  
"Is that unagi?"  
  
"Yes." Jikiri slid the container in Okita's direction after pulling out a piece for herself. "Anyway, after Naoya-san said that, Chou-san said 'Tell Kita-san it'll never fuckin' work, and he'll end up with a katana through his throat.' He said he won't try to stop you, though."  
  
"And Eiji?"  
  
Jikiri blinked and put her hand down, resting her chopsticks on the edge of the bowl.  
  
"What about Eiji, Jikiri?"  
  
Okita watched as Jikiri's entire face became taught. Her eyes clouded over, not with joy or anger, but just with extremely deep thought. Finally, she leaned back slightly and put her fingers to her forehead, as if trying to use pressure to defend against a headache. "Eiji...he...Eiji said he'd help us if I would marry him."  
  
Okita's eyes grew wide. He dropped his chopsticks and grabbed Jikiri's hand excitedly. Finally! It had taken years, but Eiji had -finally- asked her. "Really? What did you say?"  
  
"This Jikiri said no. And then Eiji said that of course he would do it anyway. Then he said that he didn't mind my answer. He'd just wait and keep asking until I say yes."  
  
"He's very patient, Jikiri. He learned from the best. I doubt he will give up on you." Okita released Jikiri's hand and tried his best to give her a reassuring smile. Deep down, Okita believed, Jikiri really did enjoy Eiji's company. She possibly even loved him. Jikiri trusted no one with ease, especially those who proclaimed their love for her. The terrors of her past caused her to keep most men at arm's length. Unfortunately, the men she had killed, they had stolen her most precious innocence. Frankly, if they weren't dead already, Okita would have done everything in his power to send them screaming to their graves.  
  
"And what about you, Okita-san? Did I not see the widows Kanjuriko and Tabaki on the school grounds yesterday?"  
  
Okita looked like someone had just shoved a smelly fish under his nose. Those widows, they came around every week for tea. But they were such officious, gossipy women. "I already have over four hundred students," Okita declared, "That's enough women for any man. I don't need to marry someone just to have a woman's touch on my world. And, if I want my bed warmed at night, I'll put my blankets by the fire."  
  
Jikiri quirked an eyebrow at the speech and shook her head, changing the subject. "Do you really think this plan will work, Okita-san?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
Jikiri's eyebrows crinkled in thought. "I agree with Chou-san. You're going to end up with a katana through your throat, and this Jikiri will be locked in prison. But..." Jikiri leaned forward and tapped her mentor on his head with the end of her chopstick, "This one doubts she has the wherewithal to deny you anything, Okita-san. You could talk a lion into having tea with lambs."  
  
"Good. Then, we're set." Okita gave the tiny woman a wink, and turned back to his food. Oh yes, and what a plan it was. They'd be so surprised. And so what if Saitou got angry? For once, that man was going to do something romantic with his wife, even if it killed Okita to force him into it.  
  
"Aie! You've eaten the last dumpling, old man."  
  
"No," Okita said, indicating Jikiri's bowl with the end of his chopsticks, "I gave it to you."  
  
"Oh." Jikiri smiled sheepishly as she picked up the stuffed noodle. "So you did."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Late January, 1893.  
  
Tokio held her mending up to the light. Those boys. Truly amazing how many rips they could manage to get into their clothing. And Tsuyoshi kept growing like the wildest summer weed. He'd definitely be as tall as his father, if not taller.  
  
In the yard, they were lined up in order of their ages. Tokio looped her needle through the fabric for a moment to watch as the quartet silently performed kata in the back yard. Hajime had been teaching them the moves since the day they could lift a shinai. And now, every day, without fail, the entire family would gather for the practice. Tokio would sit on the engawa and watch the private performance, imagining their futures, reminiscing on the past, and always smiling quite openly at the display.  
  
Her youngest, little Tatsuo. The poor boy, with his odd looks, he made so few friends beyond his brothers. Because of it, he suffered greatly when the older boys left to Osaka for training. As best Megumi-sensei could figure, his strange traits likely had to do with a terrible fever Tokio had contracted while pregnant. He'd always be slight, they figured. But what he lacked in size and health he more than made up for in kindness. And he was definitely more than spoiled not only by his mother, but by everyone else. Okita and Jikiri were constantly brought him books, and Tokio felt certain that Naoya snuck him sweets more than absolutely necessary.  
  
Little Tatsuo tripped on the hem of his hakama as he attempted to perform one of the more complicated lunges, and stumbled, ending face down in the dirt. He made no protest, however, and stood back up to continue with a determined scrunching of his lips.  
  
Then there was Tsuyoshi. He was grinning, even now. And when the four turned in such a manner that Hajime couldn't see their faces, Tokio's middle son stuck his tongue out at his older brother. Tokio tried her hardest not to chuckle. But, that was Tsuyoshi, tall and gangly, always trying to make everyone laugh. He'd inherited not only his father's looks, but that cutting wit of Hajime's as well. Tsuyoshi definitely was the best with people, and could charm a dowager out of her jewelry. He'd end up with a bevy of beauties vying for his attention one day.  
  
And then, executing his moves with precision nigh identical to his father's, was Tsutomu. Such a serious young man, and with such a horrible penchant for getting the trio into trouble. Everyone said that Tsutomu resembled her, but that sneer on his face definitely belonged to Hajime. Tsutomu had her husband's temperament, yes, and along with it the awesome charisma that warned the world not to stand in his way. He brought his shinai up over his head and thrust downwards, sending a shiver up Tokio's spine. Yes. He'd be a swordsman, just like his father.  
  
Hajime, of course, stood tallest. His katana traveled not a centimeter, not a millimeter, without his consent. Every move reminded Tokio of that first night she'd seen him perform these exact moves, that night in Osaka when she'd first began to understand the extraordinary raw power which could reside within a single man.   
  
The performance came to an end, with Saitou re-sheathing his katana and the three boys slipping their shinai into the belts of their hakamas. They bowed towards the setting sun, but no one moved until Hajime turned and began to walk towards the engawa.  
  
"Tatsuo, you tripped again," Tsuyoshi said, grabbing his younger brother by the arm to take a look, "And your ear is bleeding. Mother! His ear is bleeding."  
  
"My hakama..." Tatsuo replied, bringing his fingers to his ear and wincing, "It's too long."  
  
"It wasn't too long -yesterday-, you must be getting shorter."  
  
Tokio put her sewing in her lap as her youngest two sons approached. "Yoshi-chan, take your brother inside and wash off his ear. You know where the bandages are. I'll re-hem his hakama tomorrow. There's food in the kitchen if you are hungry."  
  
Tsuyoshi was -always- hungry, and therefore practically dragged his brother into the house by his wrist, despite the complaints of, "Itai, Yoshi-chan, ITAI!"  
  
"Bakas," Tsutomu muttered, moving to stand beside his now-smoking father.   
  
"Go heat the bath."  
  
Tsutomu looked like he was going to object on the grounds that heating the bath was Tsuyoshi's chore, but then decided to act sensibly due to the fact that he was standing well within his father's reach. The eldest son disappeared around the side of the house in search of wood for the fire.  
  
Saitou climbed the steps of the engawa and sat down next to Tokio. Silence passed between them like a shared meal, each devouring the mere presence of the other. Finally, Saitou asked, "Is he ill?"  
  
"You know he's never been a healthy boy, Hajime. Sometimes he eats, sometimes he does not. Sometimes he goes outside to play, and sometimes he's so tired that he can not. But, Megumi-sensei says it is good for him to continue with the kata whenever he can. It will keep his heart strong and his blood flowing."  
  
"Hn. I worry less about Tatsuo's heart than his brothers causing him harm."  
  
Tokio closed her eyes and leaned to the side, resting her head on her husband's shoulder. "No matter how much they tease, they adore him, truly."  
  
"Aa."   
  
"I think that, in time..."   
  
Tokio was cut off by a shout from her eldest son. "Eiji-ni! Mother! Eiji-ni is here!"   
  
"Send him out back, please, Tsu-chan!"  
  
Eiji arrived carrying a large basket overflowing with soy beans. Tokio gave a nod to her adopted son. He'd grown so much over the years, and now had arms thicker than her husband's from his constant toil in the gardens. His skin, sun-baked past golden, bore the remarkably earthy texture of a seasoned farmer. Hajime always said that it was a shame Eiji had never taken up the sword, to which Eiji would always laugh and say that he was more interested in causing things to grow than in cutting them down prematurely.  
  
"Oi, Fujita-san, Auntie Tokio. Brought you the soy beans I promised. First of the crop." Eiji sat the basket down by the back wall of the engawa.   
  
"Eiji," Tokio stood and grasped the man's large hands, "You didn't have to come all this way for that."  
  
"Well, no. I suppose I didn't. But, I thought I'd take the boys off your hands for a while. Do you mind, Fujita-san?"  
  
"No. Put them to work doing something useful. That bunch of layabout worthless ahous could use..." Saitou's sentence came to an abrupt stop. His eyes darted towards the end of the engawa, where a second later a short shadow appeared, followed by its owner, Okita Jikiri.  
  
And she looked -awful-. Her face, covered in sweat, was tied up into the most venomous scowl she had sported since her days with the Hachinisasareru. He clothes had been slathered in dirt. Blood soaked through a bandage around her left wrist.. Worst of all, she carried her sheathed kodachis clamped in her right hand.  
  
"Jikiri!" Tokio said, her voice echoed by Eiji's. "What's happened? Are you alright?"  
  
"This Jikiri is fine, but...." Jikiri replied, her voice strangely quiet. The woman sat down on the engawa without being invited, hanging her head as if in defeat. "It's so bad, even to begin is daunting...."  
  
"Take your time, Jikiri."  
  
All eyes focused on Jikiri as she placed her kodachis beside her knees and folded her hands on her lap. "Chou-san came to see me today. This Jikiri had never seen him such a mess. His hair was down around his shoulders, and he reeked of sake and sweat. If not for his coat, I wouldn't have recognized him. He brushed past me and said that he had come to hire me, or rather, hire Nakenashi, to kill someone."  
  
Eiji shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Kill someone? Kill who, Jikiri-kun?"  
  
"Kill..." Jikiri closed her eyes, unwilling to look at her friends while relating the news, "Naoya-san's lover."  
  
"Preposterous. Who would have the rat-girl besides that ahou?" Nonetheless, Tokio noticed her husband's fingers now lay on the hilt of his katana.  
  
"He must be mistaken, don't you think, Jikiri? Naoya would never do such a thing. Not only would it ruin her reputation, but she's utterly devoted to Chou." Tokio pressed her hand to her collarbone. Such a distressing turn of events. It must be a horrible mistake.  
  
"No," Jikiri said, "I'm afraid it's true. Naoya-san confessed everything to Okita-san last week. It is possible that she was afraid of how disappointed you would be, Tokio-san, and didn't want to tell you."  
  
"My goodness, how horrible," Tokio replied.  
  
"Yes. She's taken Eiko-chan and gone to her aunt's house, outside of Yokohama. This Jikiri thinks she means to leave Chou-san for good. And Chou-san...he's gone crazy. He said that if Nakenashi would not kill this man who had taken Naoya from him, then he would do it himself and 'damned be the consequences'. As enraged as he is, it seems doubtful that Naoya-san will be safe, either. This Jikiri attempted to calm him, to get him to stay, let things be worked out. But...he fought desperately, and escaped. It won't take him long, I fear, to figure out where she's gone..."  
  
"Those. Two. Idiots," Saitou declared.  
  
"Tokio-san, will you go? To Yokohama, that is? If anyone can talk sense into Naoya-san, if she trusts anyone, it is you."  
  
Tokio nodded, "Of course, of course. But, what about Chou?"  
  
"Well, this Jikiri had hoped that Fujita-san..."  
  
Everyone looked at Saitou, who was staring into indeterminate space, releasing heavy clouds of smoke into the air between drags on his cigarette. This was unexpected, and he hated unexpected things. Domestic disputes were matters for the local police, and he was not a policeman local to Yokohama. Still, if Chou -did- kill Naoya, and he didn't do anything about it, Tokio would be inconsolably upset. But, damn it, this was none of his business. If Naoya wanted to run off with some other man... It was probably all that broomheaded ahou's fault, anyway. Saitou always knew that Chou would fuck things up -somehow-, someday. The only amazing thing was that it took him so long.   
  
"Please, Hajime, won't you come?"  
  
"Aa, I suppose I can't let my wife get murdered by some crazed sword collector."  
  
Eiji, who'd been sitting silent all this time, piped up and said, "I'll look after the boys, Tokio-san, so you don't even have to worry. They enjoy staying with their Eiji-ni, anyway."  
  
"Oh, thank you, Eiji, that would be most helpful."  
  
And so, it was decided. Hajime and Tokio would go to Yokohama to rescue Naoya and Chou from the impending catastrophe. Tokio went inside to pack their things, and Saitou went to see what was taking Tsutomu so long with the bath.  
  
This left only Jikiri and Eiji on the engawa, staring at each other.  
  
"Eh, don't worry, Jikiri-kun. If things go wrong, I'll protect you." Eiji stated.  
  
A high-pitch snort emanated from Jikiri's nose. "With what? A soy-bean? A bunch of radishes? The overwhelming beauty of your orchids?"  
  
"So, you like my orchids, hm?"  
  
"No, I...this Jikiri didn't mean..."  
  
"You know," Eiji said, standing to go inside, "They only grow so incredibly lovely because I'm thinking of you when I tend them."  
  
By the time Jikiri had composed herself enough to utter a scathing retort, Eiji had already left.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Whatcha got there, eh, 'Ko-chan?"  
  
Eiko scrunched up her face as she looked up, and up, and up, and finally found her father's face. "It's a doll, of course, Papa. Jikiri-nesan gave it to me the other day."  
  
"S'at so? What's it for then?"  
  
"Just for looking at, I suppose." Eiko put the doll back on the wooden stand and scratched her blonde hair. "I don't know any ladies which look like that. Do you?"  
  
Chou bent down to examine the porcelain doll. Come to think of it, the thing looked a bit like Yumi when she dressed up as an oiran. But, it probably wasn't a good idea to tell his daughter anything about that. Not for a few good years yet, at least. "Nah. Don't know any. Speakin' of ladies that look funny, where's yer Ma?"  
  
"Kitchen."  
  
"Take yer Pa's swords and put 'em up, eh?"  
  
"Hai, hai, Commander Papa." Eiko saluted her father and waited for the bulk of his swords to be removed. The thirteen year old began to take them one by one and put them back on the enormous set of racks that lined the wall of the family room.  
  
Chou walked towards the kitchen, admiring his house along the way. They'd taken that old shack on Miraiyu street, and turned it into quite a home. Built the extra rooms with his own hands, he did. Sure, parts of the house did still lean a bit to one side, but so did his hair, and so did Naoya's obi. All in all, it seemed about right for everything belonging to the Sawagejou clan to be just a bit off. It suited them all just fine.   
  
Chou slid the shoji to the kitchen open to find his wife cutting vegetables. "Nao... Oi! What're you doin'? I told ya not to cut food with your damn tanto."  
  
Naoya thrust the offending weapon into a melon as cleanly as a soldier stabbing a man in the eye. She turned around, her hands on her hips. "Well, what am I supposed to do, hm? Your daughter took it to mind to bury all the kitchen knives out in the back yard, and now she can't remember where...or even for goodness-sakes, -why-."  
  
"Prolly all those pirate stories I been tellin' her... Ya know, got her thinkin' bout buried treasure n'all."  
  
"I knew this was somehow your fault."  
  
"Calm down, woman. Me and Eiko-chan will go find those knives later. You know I can sniff out a blade anywhere." Chou put his nose to the air and took a long whiff as if to demonstrate his formidable powers. "Oi. That's dumplings. Who's comin' over, eh?"  
  
"Eiji's bringin' the boys." Naoya turned back around to stir the food, "Okita-san's plan went into action today."  
  
Chou shook his head sadly as he stepped behind his wife and laid his hands on her waist. "'Kita-san's fuckin' psycho."  
  
"Nah, he's brilliant."  
  
"Insane."  
  
"Genius."  
  
"Crazy, I tell ya."  
  
"But, it's so sweet."  
  
"This melon is sweet, Okita-san's just got a death wish."  
  
Naoya slapped her husband's hand away from the food. "Don't touch that!"  
  
Chou grinned wickedly and slid his hand up Naoya's torso until he found a handful of breast. "Bet this is sweet, too."  
  
"Aieeeeeeeee, don't touch that -either-."  
  
"What about the other one, then?"  
  
"Sawagejou Chou, you incorrigible damn fiend."  
  
"Uh oh, she's usin' the big words again. Well, if I can't touch ya there, can I touch you here?"  
  
"Eiko! Get my broom!"  
  
From the other room, Eiko's voice piped, "Hai, hai, Commander Mommy!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio pulled back the flap covering the carriage window, and watched the countryside roll past. The snow captured by the branches of the trees, the carpet of powdery flakes that paved their journey, it all seemed more brilliantly white than winter in the city. It exuded a friendly silence, one welcome to Tokio's ears after the noise of the train and the bustle of Yokohama.   
  
If only their reasons for coming here weren't so dire, Tokio might have even described the journey as 'lovely'.  
  
Letting the flap fall back down, Tokio turned towards her husband. He hadn't said much the entire journey, which wasn't unusual. But, from the way he had been smoking one cigarette after another, Tokio deduced that he was more cross than normal. She'd tried not to bother him, not to interfere in his planning, trust in his appraisal of the situation, but for once curiosity won over patience.  
  
"What are you going to do, Hajime? If Chou shows up, that is?"  
  
Saitou turned his head only an inch so that he could see his wife out of the corner of his eye. He was more surprised that she'd asked the question, than by the question itself. "I'll subdue him and take him to the Yokohama police. They can deal with him until the matter is resolved."  
  
Tokio nodded her approval of the plan, and returned to looking out the window. Really, it was quite exciting being this far away from Tokyo. She hadn't left the city since they'd come from Osaka all those years ago. Being away from her children only exacerbated the butterflies in her stomach, causing an uncomfortable queasiness that made her feel light headed.   
  
And Naoya...what was she thinking? How could Naoya do such a horrible thing to Chou? It seemed beyond the realm of all possibility.  
  
The carriage came to a stop beside a narrow path leading into the nearby woods. Saitou exited the carriage first, and proceeded his wife down the unstable steps into the snow. The driver handed down the smaller of their bags to Tokio, and the larger one to Saitou.  
  
"The house you're looking for is about a mile down that path," the driver said. "I'll be back next Tuesday around noon, provided the snow doesn't get worse."  
  
The pair walked up the snow-covered path, through the remarkably thick forest, Tokio following Hajime. Thankfully, the snow was only an inch or two deep, leaving the journey chilly, but not difficult. Tokio watched her husband's back as he walked, taking care to attempt to step only where he stepped. His black haori and grey hakama stood in sharp contrast to the landscape, and reminded Tokio of a photograph she'd once been shown. Pictures taken by those western cameras had a way of sucking all the color out of the world, as if life itself were too vivid to be reproduced in all its glory.   
  
The forest, too, lacked certain dimensions, such as sound, giving it the surreal quality of a particularly familiar dream. Tokio wondered if, by the crunching sounds of their trespass here, they had broken some natural law for which they would end up paying dearly. At any moment, the steel-colored sky would fall, the trees dissolve into poison, the snow rise up and claim the last of each body's heat.   
  
But, no, she was worried, mostly, about Naoya...and Chou, that was all.  
  
"Are your feet alright, Tokio?"  
  
She should have bought thick boots in Yokohama, since in her haste she'd left hers at home. But, how could she really justify such an expense? She'd probably never wear them again after this trip. Well, there was no reason to let Hajime know how stupid she had been, just to save a bit of money. "I can make it, Hajime."  
  
"I only ask because you are walking so slowly."  
  
"My apologies. I'll try..."  
  
"Stop it." Saitou turned around, his thick black coat fluttering noisily with his movement. With a quick snap of his fingers, his cigarette went flying into the underbrush, settling with a hiss into its newfound home within the snow. "You always do this, Tokio. This self-sacrificial game of yours is getting quite old. If you want to play the martyr, do it some other day. I'd like to get to that house before the snow starts falling again."  
  
"But, Hajime, I..."  
  
Saitou dropped the large suitcase into the snow. It tipped over, sending a small cloud of white powder into the air. As for Saitou, he walked towards his wife, pried the smaller suitcase from her hands, and tossed it on top of the larger one.   
  
Before Tokio knew it, he'd bent and looped his arms under her knees, lifting her off the path. She found her head against his shoulder, her torso pressed at an angle against his. He started on their journey again, leaving the suitcases behind on the path.  
  
"It always ends up like this, doesn't it, Hajime?"  
  
Saitou looked down at the woman in his arms, his brows knit in mock annoyance. "Aa. I'm beginning to think you do it on purpose."  
  
"One of these days, you'll be too old to carry me somewhere. What then?"  
  
"Then we freeze to death, Tokio. What else?"  
  
Tokio pressed her face against his shoulder, hiding from the rising winter winds. How was he so strong? How, even now, as he grew ever closer to half a century old, did he still have all the answers?   
  
How had she ever managed to live without him?  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Don't..." Tokio bit her bottom lip, in an attempt to keep from choking on her words, "Don't die before I do, Hajime."  
  
She felt it before she heard it, his chest shaking with deep guffaws, vibrating through her clothes into the pit of her stomach, killing off the butterflies fluttering there. Tokio could count the number of times she'd heard her husband laugh like that on one hand. And exactly -none- of the times was she ever able to figure out exactly what caused it.  
  
"Yare, yare, of all the things you could be worried about at this moment, Tokio, you'd pick the one least likely to happen anytime soon."  
  
Husband and wife continued down the path in this manner for some minutes, Saitou watching the path in front of them as fresh flakes of snow began to dot the air, and Tokio watching the line of her husband's neck and jaw. He had grey hairs now, just a few, right above his ear at the hairline. And, his skin had grown more leathery and rough, likely from constant exposure to smoke. The tiny scars from this or that fight, she could read them like a novel of his life. The nick on his throat Okita had given him, a small one just above his brow from Himura Battousai, and by his ear, three little dots from where she had once bitten him.  
  
Suddenly, his arms went rigid, and their progress stopped. Saitou turned his head to the left, peering into the forest for quite a few seconds.  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
"Do you smell oranges, Tokio?" He smelled them. Oranges. In the middle of winter...  
  
Just like Okita's room in Shinsengumi headquarters, like the man himself, always smelling perpetually of oranges. It must be a trick of the senses, like the time in Hokkaido when he thought the sea smelled of soba.   
  
Because if he wasn't merely imagining things...  
  
This...wasn't....right.  
  
Chou wasn't the sort of person to fly into a jealous rage.  
  
The damn rat-girl would have no one else -but- Chou.  
  
And Okita Souji was suspiciously missing from this whole escapade.  
  
A peal of familiar laughter rung through the forest, the echoes bouncing off mounds of snow. Okita's laughter. A strained look crossed Tokio's face, but she made no mention of hearing Okita's voice, or of the fact that her husband had started walking again at a ferocious pace. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as she looked away from her husband and peered into the nearby trees.  
  
"Hajime?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Please stop digging your fingernails into my arm."  
  
They arrived at the clearing moments later. The thick forest growth had been long-since removed, leaving an abbreviated yard in front of the log cabin. Snow blanketed the roof of the small building, ending at the easements in military rows of icicles. Thick curls of smoke rose from somewhere on the far side of the roof, mocking Saitou's desperate need for a cigarette by their scale.  
  
Very desperate.  
  
Because he didn't like this situation at -all-.  
  
"Wait here, Tokio." Tokio found herself upright, and watched as her husband stalked towards the house. Tokio wasn't certain what had caused him to so suddenly become more disturbed than usual, and decided not to dwell on the subject. He'd elaborate when and if he cared to do so. On the other hand, Naoya's aunt's house struck Tokio as surprisingly picturesque. Strange. Naoya hadn't ever mentioned an aunt, but, Naoya tended not to talk much about her family. Perhaps they were, until recently, estranged? Well, the possibilities were limitless and it was perhaps less than dignified to speculate upon them.  
  
Hajime climbed the steps and stood in front of the door for quite a few seconds, as if trying to decide something particularly distressing. Finally, he raised one thick-gloved hand and, with his fingers splayed, gave the door a small push.  
  
It swung open.  
  
Saitou stepped inside to find, just as he deduced, nobody was home. Yes. People often left their houses unattended with fires still burning, with lit candles littering the front room, and dinner laid out on the floor.  
  
Saitou barged into the room, grabbing the most obvious object, a sheet of paper laying on the middle of the floor.   
  
He read it.  
  
And then he stomped back outside.  
  
"OKITA!"  
  
No one tricks the Wolf of Mibu. No one tricks him and -lives-, that is.  
  
"Show yourself, Okita! Do it now!"  
  
Tokio watched as her husband spun around, his eyes darting this way and that, hand flexing over the hilt of his katana. And he was yelling. Yelling for Okita for some bizarre reason. The whole scene was terribly disconcerting, so much so that Tokio clasped her hands together and took a few timid steps towards her husband.  
  
"Is there some danger, Hajime?"  
  
"Yes," he replied, letting the word hiss through his teeth, "Okita Souji is in very real danger of having his head removed."  
  
Unfortunately, Saitou knew, Okita had already made his retreat. The other man wouldn't be stupid enough to stick around after a stunt like this. In all the years of his life, he had never been made to look the fool, especially not in front of Tokio. The concept irked him more than it should, he knew. She'd been duped too, of course, but that fact didn't help to calm his extreme anger.  
  
But, what could he do? Okita's tactics had been executed impeccably. He couldn't think of anyone in the whole of Japan who would even -think- they could get away with such a trick. No one except Souji.  
  
Saitou gave up on the prospects of calling for a man who had left. As he strode past his wife, he handed her the paper and said, "Go inside. I'm going to get the bags."  
  
Tokio watched her husband's retreat back down the path from which they had come before looking at the paper in her hands.   
  
It read:  
  
Well, I guess by now you've figured everything out. Naoya and Chou are fine, of course. We all decided to give this to you both as a present. At least attempt to enjoy it, my friend, before hunting me down. It isn't like you can both walk back to Yokohama in this weather tonight, anyway.   
  
So, Happy 20th Anniversary, my friends. We're all wishing you 20 more.  
  
Okita S.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It took Saitou nearly a full hour to retrieve the suitcases. Actually, it took him only a third of that time to actually perform the task. The rest of the time was spent sitting on a fallen log, smoking, and considering -exactly- how to position his hands when he strangled his best friend.   
  
Visualizing Okita's death had a particularly calming effect when mixed with tobacco. To Saitou, it was an hour well spent.  
  
Not that he didn't enjoy being alone in his wife's presence. Far from it. But, he would do so when he chose, and not when Okita tricked him into it.  
  
Wait. What if -Tokio- were Okita's accomplice?  
  
No. Tokio possessed a severe inability to keep that sort of secret from him. He'd have seen it in her eyes long before they even left Tokyo.  
  
Saitou trudged back to the cabin, suitcases in hand. Night was already falling, but he'd long since grown inured to the cold. A Yokohama winter didn't hold a candle to a Hokkaido winter.  
  
And Okita knew very well that Saitou could walk back to Yokohama if he wanted. But, he didn't relish the idea of leaving Tokio here to return on her own.  
  
Because...  
  
Because...  
  
Well, there weren't any solidly -rational- reasons for it. But, she was his -wife-, and the mother of his children. And she was, quite possibly, the only person who would ever endure emotional torture on his behalf. She didn't deserve to be deserted just because he had a bone to pick with Okita.  
  
'Damn you, Okita Souji. Damn you and your squirrel-girl, too.'  
  
He found Tokio in the hut, kneeling in front of some food. She'd extinguished most of the candles and opted to light a paper lantern instead. As always, his wife was practical, and far from wasteful.   
  
Tokio, upon seeing her husband enter, swayed a bit to one side. Her hands had been behind her back for some reason, and she brought them forward to set the food out.  
  
Odd. She didn't get up to take the bags, or his gloves, or...  
  
Saitou sniffed at the air as he put everything in a pile beside the door. The smell of food, yes. Okita thankfully had enough sense not to bring anything foul. But, some other odor, something pungent and familiar tickled his senses.   
  
Saitou's eyes darted right and left as he turned to face his wife. The room was simple enough, the only furniture of note a large dividing screen which sectioned off the corner of the room. Yes. Simple enough. So...  
  
Tokio giggled.  
  
Tokio......giggled?  
  
"Do you find something amusing, wife?"  
  
Tokio quickly shook her head, indicating that she did -not- find anything funny. On the other hand, Saitou noticed as he knelt down in front of the food, his wife's face seemed to be turning discernibly pink.  
  
He picked up his chopsticks and began to poke at the noodles which Tokio had put into a bowl in front of him. For herself, Tokio seemed interested in pushing a slice of pickled radish around on the black lacquer plate by her knee.  
  
Was...Tokio...playing with her food?  
  
"Ano, Hajime..." Tokio cooed, her downcast eyes hidden behind short black lashes, "Ano...don't be hard on Okita-san, he's only trying..."  
  
And then Tokio hiccupped.  
  
Tokio's fingers leapt to her lips as her eyes widened with horror.  
  
"Say. That. Again. Tokio."  
  
Tokio removed her fingers hesitantly and tried again. "He's only...hic..."  
  
Saitou put his chopsticks down astride his bowl and stood. Walking around the food, he leaned down until his face was only inches from Tokio's. Tokio tried her hardest not to look away, and settled for just slouching her shoulders and leaning backwards a bit. Her husband's eyes danced with what Tokio decided was the wickedness of realization. Did he know? Did he...  
  
"Again."  
  
Tokio took a deep breath in through her nose and squeaked, "Hajime...please, I..."  
  
She didn't finish her sentence due to the fact that her husband was, in fact, audibly -growling-, by this point. He leaned in even closer, squinting his eyes until they became darkened slits of burning coal. Yes, he understood now. That smell. Sake.  
  
"Goddamnit, Tokio. I leave you alone for one hour, and come back to find you drunk? Do you have any fucking sense at all? Don't you know what I went through to stop drinking after Hokkaido?"  
  
Tokio finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to squirm. The room seemed uncomfortably hot, and her husband tantalizingly close. "I...I was so...I saw what Okita-san had done and...and it's just that...hic..."  
  
"Spit it out, woman."  
  
"I was nervous, Hajime. I didn't know what you would think of all this, but I knew you wouldn't approve. I was nervous because I thought that you might think I expected something of you... So, when I found the sake in a cabinet in the back, I drank it in an attempt to calm myself."  
  
He didn't know whether to laugh at Tokio or slap her. On one hand, she -knew- what had happened after Hokkaido. If Saitou's leg hadn't been broken, there would have been no way that Okita would have been able to succeed in keeping him from finding drink. The poor man had had to sit at his bedside for days, keeping watch with a wakizashi, enduring unending insults and the perpetual reiteration that Saitou would kill him as soon as he could stand. She knew, and yet she did exactly the thing which would remind him of the one addiction he'd sworn off for -her- sake.  
  
On the other hand, after twenty years of marriage and three children, she was still worried about what he would think of her. So much so that she, of all people, suddenly decided it would be a -good- idea to drink herself silly. Tokio. A woman whose only personal experience with alcohol involved one day in 1878 when she'd ended up stumbling home and spitting at her husband. It was more than mildly laughable, it was utterly hysterical.  
  
"Oh my, it's so...hic...hot in here," Tokio mumbled under her breath, apparently forgetting that her husband was about 3 inches away and possibly quite angry. "You wouldn't think...it being winter...that a body could get so warm, that is." Shyly, Tokio peered up at Saitou, her face glowing with a sheen that reminded him vaguely of how she looked after giving birth to their first son. "I could see why...one might choose to drink in such a horrid place as Hokkaido."  
  
He kissed her at that moment, not out of lust, or out of anger, not in sadness nor for sweetness. He kissed her because she understood him far too well. He kissed her and found that doing so still gave him the same feeling it had the very first time. Uncontrollable power. As if her body contained an energy source from which he could drink, time after time, and never become weary of the taste.  
  
The dark tang of sake passed from her lips to his tongue, electrifying his senses. Dangerous thoughts sifted through his mind, heightened by the heat of her mouth, strengthened by the soft "Hm" that emanated from the back of her throat. Highly -dangerous- thoughts. He should send her to bed, right now. No, frankly, he should lash her soundly, for once, and -then- send her to bed.  
  
Her lips slid down to his chin, trailing back upwards over his cheek and eventually finding his ear. Warmth slithered down his spine as she caught his earlobe and nibbled at it with immense fascination before moving to trace the ridge of his ear with her tongue. Honeyed words poured from her lips as smooth and tantalizing as sake itself. "Don't be mad, Hajime. You know, I didn't drink it -all-."  
  
Although his mind rebelled, he couldn't help but grunt in appreciation of her efforts. She was being vile, utterly cruel, and completely tempting. How could such a usually polite and reserved woman turn into such a monsterous creature within so short a period of time?  
  
"You can..." Tokio's hand disappeared behind her back and then returned. He felt the mild burn of the liquid coating her fingers as she slid them along his lips, "...have some, too."  
  
Saitou Hajime, a man with very good sense, discerning and reasonable, practical beyond compare, then did exactly what his mind told him -not- to do. He slipped Tokio's fingers into his mouth, indulging in duel the addictions of her flesh and the warm alcohol dripping from it. When they had been cleaned, he lapped at her palm and wrist, finding spilled drops with a suddenly greedy tongue. Small mewls of approval passing from Tokio's lips only served to invite him further, to pass the point of caution and give in to the basest of instinct.  
  
He grabbed at her scarf, holding her in place with the taught material as he twisted the length around his hand. The sudden movement startled Tokio, causing her breath to become stuck in her throat, and her hands to flutter to her captor's. She tried fruitlessly for a moment to pry his fingers from the material, the expression on her face becoming more and more concerned as realization of the true breadth of her misdeed blossomed.   
  
"No, Tokio. You started this little game, and now you will finish it." He leaned into her, crushing her torso with his own, keeping her from falling backwards with only his grasp on her scarf. With his free hand, he felt behind her, easily retrieving the bottle of sake she had been hiding. Putting a few inches between their faces, he held up the bottle for her to see. "Don't start things you can't control, Tokio. You'll wind up hurt and have only yourself to blame."  
  
Tokio's lips parted as if she were going to make some plea to stop the events spiraling out of her power. But, before she could speak, he lifted the bottle and drank so deeply that a small line of liquid escaped and dribbled down his chin. Sake. Kami-sama, the desire, the burn, the ultimate clarity which magnified the world into a calculated equation easily solved with the addition of violence. But, how strange... It tasted...flat and cold.  
  
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, watching Tokio's horrified reaction out of the corner of his eye. Gradually, her expression changed from terror to resignation. "If that is what you want, Hajime, then so be it. I..."  
  
But, it wasn't what he wanted. The sake proved unsatisfying for once, and the taste, when not coupled with the deliciousness of skin, held little to no appeal.   
  
He wanted both at once. Now.   
  
Without warning, he moved, a predator conquering the most exquisite of prey. Tokio heard only the sound of the sake bottle being set down, and then found herself on the ground. Looming above her, a wild beast which she had unwittingly uncaged tore at her clothing without regard for propriety or safety. Was he someone else, now? Was he no longer the man who had been so concerned about a small set of scratches on her thigh? The same man who caught her fall from the second story of the apothecary and placed her so gently upon the ground? Was he...the master of control...lost to chaos?  
  
Her alcohol heated skin hit the air, causing Tokio to hiss and writhe. His hands were everywhere at once, both keeping her on the ground and tearing at what remained of her clothes. She tried to see his face, to catch his eye, to find out what exactly she had released, but found his countenance hidden behind the thick shocks of black and grey hair which had fallen into his face.  
  
There was a moment of reprieve, causing Tokio to crane her head in an attempt to discern what had happened, but before she could see, she felt the cool splash of liquid being trailed from her stomach to her neck. The sake dribbled over her hot flesh, pooling in valleys and crevices, running like tiny rivers over every inch of skin. His mouth followed suit, dipping into the hollow of her neck, searching out drops between her breasts, lapping ever so softly at the pool which had formed in her bellybutton.   
  
Not a beast at all, Tokio decided, just a man driven to extremes by her thoughtless actions.   
  
She ran her hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs until she could see his eyes. Rapt orbs of gold flickered their attention from her hips to her face.   
  
"For what I have done... I'm so sorry, Hajime. So sorry."  
  
"No, Kitty," he replied, licking his lips, "But you will be, very, very soon."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Yare, yare. I don't know if I can put up with you for another twenty years," Saitou said, watching curls of smoke dance towards the ceiling.   
  
His wife, completely covered beneath the blankets drawn up to his chest, responded by pinching him on the hip...hard. He nudged what he thought should be her head with his elbow. "What are you doing in there, eh, Kitty?"  
  
"I'm cold now," Tokio's voice responded as she nestled herself more closely to his side, "And it smells like you in here."  
  
He felt her hand slide over his abdomen, followed shortly by her cheek. She rubbed her face there for several moments, attempting to find her body's missing heat. The sensation proved alarmingly amusing, causing Saitou to lift one eyebrow and chuckle lightly.  
  
"Have you forgiven me, Hajime?"  
  
In truth, he had. But, there would be no reason to let Tokio off so easily. "Hn. You're not even close to having paid in full for the damage you caused."  
  
"Oh, poor, poor, teishu. His wife causes him such grief. However will he bear it?"  
  
Placing his cigarette in the now-empty sake bottle, Saitou reached into the blankets and caught Tokio's upper arms. He pulled her until her head appeared from beneath the blankets, and her body covered his own. Tokio hid her mischievous grin by pressing her face into his neck.   
  
"Don't ever even -think- of doing that again, Tokio."  
  
Tokio nodded her agreement and let her eyes close. So warm here. So...completely safe and...  
  
Tokio's smile grew even more wide. Her plan, this time, had worked quite well. But, of course, Hajime didn't need to know that. Making him forget his anger at Okita and the others hadn't been easy, but at least she'd been successful.  
  
"Hajime...?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Can we stay here all week?"  
  
"Is there any more sake in the house?"  
  
"No, I don't think there is."  
  
"Then yes, Kitty," he replied, pulling the blankets over her shoulders, "We can stay."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Three months later. Springtime in Tokyo.  
  
"Naoya?" Tokio lifted the length of her kimono enough to step over a box laying in the back of Snowflake Sweets. April was such a busy time, and the store had become littered with packages waiting for Eiko's attention. The enterprising teenager had started her own business of sorts. Delivery. She constantly ferried orders to the outer districts, stopping along the way to take the next day's orders from busy customers. Eiko's tireless efforts had increased the popularity of the store twofold, leaving Tokio and Naoya nigh shorthanded in the cooking department.  
  
"Naoya? Are you about?"   
  
"Oi!" Naoya replied from behind a stack of boxes, "I'm back here, Tokio-san."   
  
Tokio rounded the shelves to find Naoya packing handfuls of tan colored chitose-ame into small boxes. "Oh my, there's a call for that at this time of year?"  
  
Naoya laughed as she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "A foreigner that Eiko-chan found. He says he's become an addict and can't leave the country without a year's worth at least." Naoya looked up at her employer. "You're dressed nice, Tokio-san."  
  
"Mm, yes. I must go on a visit today. I hope you won't mind my absence terribly?"  
  
Naoya clicked her tongue lightly and shook her head, "Tsk, tsk, Tokio-san. Dressed like that it must be a gentleman you are calling upon, ne? Well, I won't tell Fujita-san, but you will have to give me a raise."  
  
Tokio pursed her lips at her friend's teasing, but did not respond. Instead she slipped two small boxes out of a pile and added them to the covered basket hanging from her arm.   
  
"I should be back before closing time. But, if I'm not..."  
  
"Mou, Tokio-san, I'm not sixteen anymore. I'll handle things. Go...go..." Naoya waved her hand dismissively and turned back to her work. As the store's proprietor left, Naoya muttered, "That woman is as bad as her husband. Everything has to be under her control. You'd think I hadn't worked here half my life. Silly old bat..."  
  
"You're being nasty, Mama. Is it that time of the month?"  
  
Naoya jumped. How long had her daughter been standing there? "Don't say things like that Eiko. You sound like your father."  
  
"Why can't I say what Papa says?"  
  
"Because your father is a goddamn savage. Now, go get more of these chitose-ame from the back before I'm forced to lash you like the little imp you are."  
  
"Hai, hai, Commander Mommy."  
  
Tokio wandered the streets of Tokyo casually. The air tasted remarkably fresh and light after having been so heavy and moist due to the spring rains. Vendors harked their wares with renewed vigor, enticing passersby with the promise of the highest quality, the lowest prices. Children ran haphazardly through the streets, their older brothers and sisters trying fruitlessly to tame the wild spirit of youth. A few of the shop owners called out to Tokio, sharing tidbits of gossip as she drew aside to politely acknowledge their greeting.  
  
Beyond the market, the streets became less traveled, but not enough to be considered dangerous. Sometime later, Tokio stepped off the road, strolling into a grove of trees. A shortcut, yes, but one she often took to reach this particular destination. It cut the travel time in half, and allowed her the solace of the thicket. Birds chirped in the trees, tiny noisemakers to celebrate the confetti thrown down by the cherry blossoms.   
  
Tokio let her thoughts drift to her sons. They'd gone fishing today. Well, as long as they didn't bring the things in the house and annoy Hajime with the smell, she didn't mind. They were growing boys, and likely needed meat, especially Tatsuo.   
  
The denseness of the trees began to dissipate as the sound of water attempted to compete with the songs of birds. The fallen sakura became so thick that it felt like a slick carpet underfoot, and several times Tokio had to steady her journey by putting a hand upon a tree trunk.  
  
Suddenly, as a break in the tree line came into view, Tokio stopped. In the distance, across a creek, two people sat together in a haze of falling blossoms.   
  
Himura-san, and Kaoru-san.  
  
Tokio pushed herself behind a tree, hiding from the pair of lovers upon whose private scene she had unwittingly stumbled. Peeking quietly around the trunk, she watched as Kaoru stroked the rurouni's auburn hair, speaking to him in tones so soft they would not reach Tokio's ears. Both Himura and his wife looked...so pale, Tokio thought, and even from her distance she would make out the bandages encircling the man's forearms and neck.  
  
Tokio was about to turn back when she heard a cracking noise to her left. As she looked over her shoulder, something pressed against her from behind and a hand closed over her mouth to stifle her surprise.   
  
"Yare, yare, Kitty, I didn't expect to find you here." Saitou released his wife's mouth and put his gloved hand on her shoulder.   
  
She turned to find him gazing at the same scene upon which she had been spying only moments earlier. "I saw Megumi-sensei in the market yesterday. She said that Kaoru-san was ill and hardly eating. I thought it might be nice to take her something tempting, sweet dumplings and..." Tokio blinked, realizing her husband had literally appeared from nowhere, "Why are you here, Hajime?"  
  
"My informants sent word as soon as he stepped off the boat in Yokohama. I was surprised. No one's seen him for almost a year."  
  
"Ah." Tokio understood. He'd come to make certain that the man who returned was the rurouni, Himura Kenshin, and not another man, the one who posed great danger to their city and to their nation. But, from what Megumi-sensei said, and from what Tokio could deduce with her own eyes, neither of the pair would be able to draw a sword (or bokken), much less use it to inflict harm.   
  
Tokio felt her husband's hands at her hips, strong arms holding her in place as they both gazed on the scene. It must have been hard for Kaoru, Tokio thought, to wait for her husband, especially if she knew how ill he was before he left. Tokio knew all about waiting. But, Hajime didn't leave anymore. He hadn't for a long time. They'd taken him off active duty and he now spent his time managing the Intelligence Department that he, himself, had helped to create.   
  
He hated it.  
  
Day in and day out with nothing but paperwork and underlings to direct. Nothing but files and Chou's chatter to engross his mind. He hated it, and Tokio knew it.  
  
Tokio watched as Kaoru pushed back her husband's hair, gazing at the paleness of Kenshin's face. The whirl of sakura enshrouded the pair, a beaded curtain of white and pink trying desperately to shield the two from prying eyes. Springtime held them, caressed them, seemed made for the pair of lovers to whom time had been so cruel. The season wished to comfort her children, to stroke their faces, wash away the past, and laughingly seal away the future.   
  
Springtime belonged to these lovers. Himura-san and Kaoru-san were as delicate and giving as the unfurling flower in morning, as kind as the fawn, as compassionate as the warm breeze which troubled no traveler. Tokio had never cared much for spring. It always meant the end of winter, the absence of the sound of snow. Yes, if springtime cherished the Himuras, then it was the crisp chill of deep December which protected Hajime and Tokio.  
  
Behind Tokio, her husband's arms stiffened, only for a moment, and then relaxed. "He's gone."  
  
The tone of Saitou's voice surprised Tokio. It was soft, but not sad, nor regretful. It was a hue of sound that she'd previously only heard him use on very few occasions. Deep and utter respect.  
  
"Should we..." Tokio moved forward slightly, trying to decide if she should go to Kaoru to comfort the woman. She found herself restrained by her husband's arms.  
  
"No. Let her be. She won't be far behind him."  
  
She turned as Saitou's hands released her, looking up at the man who had just watched his supposed nemesis perish, not to the sword, not in the glory of battle, but to one enemy man could not conquer: disease. As always, he appeared unaffected, his countenance as firm and unrelentingly smug as ever. The man was not one to mourn, Tokio knew, especially not for someone he might have respected. As he often said, to do so would be to invalidate their life.  
  
Saitou stepped away from Tokio and lifted his hands. He brought the left one to his mouth and quickly used his teeth to dislodge his fingers from the tight gloves. After removing the left, he pulled the other off, and deftly folded both in half.   
  
He placed them in the crook of the tree's trunk, leaving them as a memorial, or perhaps because they were just no longer necessary.  
  
"I'm quitting the force, Tokio."  
  
"The Commissioner will be peeved," Tokio replied, picking up her basket from the ground. "You'll take the job Okita-san offered, then, I suppose? Teaching kendo to the girls?"  
  
"Aa. For a while, at least." Saitou turned away from the scene, giving one more glance to the pair of lovers in the distance before saying, "Lets go, Tokio."  
  
She took her place behind him, following as he walked through the grove, his western shoes crushing the cherry blossoms below. Long ago, she would have experienced overwhelming joy at the thought that Himura Kenshin had died. But now, she merely felt a bizarre detachment, as if the events couldn't have taken place inside the confines of reality. Besides her husband, there only seemed to be very few people who would possibly live forever. And one had just now died peacefully within his wife's arms. How strangefor him to go in such a manner. But then, he had turned out to be not at all what Tokio expected. Not evil incarnate. Not a murderous demon. Just a quiet and genial little man who very much liked the simpler things in life, and who wanted to put right some very bad things he'd done in his past.  
  
Tokio supposed that he was not a man too many people could truly understand. Except, perhaps, for Kaoru.  
  
"He was a good man, ne, Hajime? In the end?"  
  
Saitou stopped. He plucked a petal of sakura off a tree trunk and rubbed it across his fingertips, slicing it in two with a fingernail. "Better than most, Tokio. Better than most."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Interlude of Many Years.  
  
Many poets will tell you a great many things about Time, and how it relates to the fragility of life. Some will say that time which is lived in happiness passes most quickly, and that laughing days and joyful seasons become fond memories within the span of a butterfly's heartbeat. Others will deny this claim, and announce that those who savor life will be forever caught within the crystalization of every single instant, and that time will stretch itself into an infinity for those who do not take for granted the happiness they have been given.  
  
Perhaps the Japanese poet Sami Mansei said it most eloquently in 352 A.D.   
  
"Living in this world, to what shall I compare it? It is like a boat, rowing out at break of day, leaving no trace behind."  
  
With eyes towards the horizon, and disappearing ripples behind, Hajime and Tokio lived a great many years together. And while it can not be said that every instant contained complete bliss, neither man nor wife could say that they had many regrets, if any, about the lives they had chosen.   
  
They watched as their sons grew into fine young men. Men who walked with pride and confidence, men who soon developed their own well-thought-out ideas of how the world should be, and who set about remaking the land to fit those noble ideals. Tsutomu and Tsuyoshi soon married, and much to Tokio's delight and Hajime's dismay, soon added their own children to the family. Tatsuo did not marry, and instead, became a literature professor and went to work for Okita.  
  
For their 30th anniversary, Okita Souji presented the Saitous with the painting he'd been working on for over twenty years. It depicted the couple standing together beside a frozen stream of water, the dark green of Tokio's kimono and navy blue of Saitou's uniform a stark contrast to the whirling snow. Jikiri teased Souji endlessly about how long it took him to complete the picture, saying that if he wanted to finish another before he died, he'd better get to work straight away.  
  
As for Okita, his school grew and grew. The new era marched on, and as the nineteenth century became the twentieth, more and more young women wished to become educated. Jikiri became his constant companion and assistant, supporting the lofty goal her mentor had chosen. In time, she put away her kodachis, and left them to be quite forgotten at the bottom of some unknown cabinet in their house behind the University.  
  
Eiji never married, but he asked Jikiri every week to do him that particular honor. He remained a simple man throughout his days, content with his gardens, and with teaching young women how to make things grow and flourish. His advice on such matters became highly sought after, with even the head gardener of the Imperial Gardens often seeking his opinion.  
  
Naoya and Chou remained as feisty as ever, and though they had no more children, both took great pride in watching Eiko grow and become quite a remarkable young woman. Eiko soon took over most of the routine operations of Snowflake Sweets, leaving the older women to what they loved best: cooking, and gossiping.  
  
Saitou worked for some years as a kendo instructor at the Tokyo Women's University. As far as Tokio could tell, he enjoyed passing on sword skills and bushido to the next generation, even if they were women. Tokio supposed that he knew that no more swordsmen of a particular caliber existed. He had outlived most, if not all, of their kind. And though Japan still had her enemies, his time was best spent training others for the duty he had once burdened solely upon his own shoulders.  
  
They became quite old together. And though he now carried a bokken outside of their house, Saitou practiced kata every morning with his katana. His movements never became any the less precise. He never slipped, never grew tired, never skipped a single day.  
  
And Tokio watched, every morning, until he finished his performance.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Late September, 1915. Tokyo.  
  
"Where are we going, Papa?" The little girl reached up and slid her little hand into her father's gloved one. He had such big hands, and holding them made her feel very safe, and very happy. They were warm, not at all like her mother's hands, which were always cold for no particular reason, even in the middle of summer. Miyuki smiled a large, mostly-toothy grin. She was six. And yesterday one of her baby teeth had fallen out. It made her quite proud, and she showed it off whenever possible. "Papa?"  
  
Tsuyoshi smirked and bent down to lift Miyuki up, tossing her onto his shoulders with ease. "We're going to see your grandpa Fujita and grandma Tokio, hm? Remember?"  
  
Miyuki did, in fact, remember. She just wanted to make sure her -father- remembered, and that he was going to the right place. Mimi-chan giggled from viewpoint at the summit of Mt. Papa. He was very tall. He was the tallest person Miyuki knew, and she knew a lot of people. She knew Papa and Mama, and her older brother, and her friends from school, and Kumachi-sensei, and uncle Tsutomu and his family, and uncle Tatsuo, and uncle Eiji and grandma and grandpa, and well...lots more people. But, none of them were as tall as her father.   
  
Well, Grandpa Fujita was almost as tall, but not quite.   
  
Miyuki watched as a policeman walked past. She waved at him, showing off her toothy grin. He winked in return. Miyuki liked policemen. Her uncle Tsutomu was the greatest policeman ever because he once saved her friend Kitoyo from some bad men who wanted to steal Kitoyo-chan's necklace. When she grew up, Mikyuki definitely would become a policeman. Or, maybe, she might also become a great dojo master like her Papa. Well, she still had some time to think about it. Right now, though, she wanted to think about getting to her grandma's house.   
  
"Now, which house is it, Mimi-chan? Do you remember?"  
  
Miyuki put her fingers to her lips, and with a prolonged "Hmmmm" looked around Taito street. Aha! "That one, Papa, that one! Oh, look, there's Uncle Tatsuo! Uncle Tatsuo! Hellooo!"  
  
Uncle Tatsuo, who had been walking up the street in the other direction, his nose buried in a book, looked up and waved. Uncle Tatsuo was her Papa's little brother. Miyuki didn't have a little brother or sister, but she was going to very soon, which is why her Mama was still at home.  
  
Miyuki squirmed and wiggled until she found herself being placed on the ground. She ran up to her uncle and tugged gently on his hakama. Sometimes, her Papa said that Uncle Tatsuo was a very important sensei at the big school for older girls. But, then, other times he called Uncle Tatsuo a witless baka without enough sense to come in from the rain. Either way, Miyuki liked Uncle Tatsuo very much. He taught reading, and because of this, he knew lots of great stories from old books.  
  
"Will you tell me a story later, Uncle Tatsuo?"  
  
"Of course, of course, Mimi-chan. Now, look at that, one of your teeth fell out, didn't it?"  
  
"Un!" Miyuki replied, nodding furiously. Tatsuo patted her head, grinning at his brother in greeting.   
  
"Why don't you go on in, Mimi-chan? I bet if you find your grandma..."  
  
But, Miyuki was already gone, flying down the front path of the Fujita home with excited abandon.  
  
Behind her, Tatsuo straightened up, the smile falling from his face as he looked at his brother.  
  
"How is he?" Tsuyoshi asked.  
  
"Who can tell?" Tatsuo replied, removing his glasses to clean them with the sleeve of his gi, "He won't stay in bed, and he refuses to allow me to fetch a doctor. Mother is useless in the matter. She says that Father has never liked doctors, and there is no use in trying to change him now."  
  
"The old fool." Tsuyoshi shook his head, but knew his Mother's words to be the truth. His father wasn't going to just lay around like an invalid, even if he was in pain. "That damn old fool..."  
  
"Oi! Not so loud." Tatsuo looked around carefully, "He still has the hearing of a wolf."  
  
Inside the courtyard, Miyuki skipped up the path. She found her grandpa sitting on the engawa, playing shogi with old Okita-san. Miyuki liked Okita-san, too. She, Okita-san, and grandma were the only people not afraid of Grandpa Fujita, it sometimes seemed.  
  
"Grandpa! Grandpa! Mimi-chan's here!"  
  
Saitou quirked one eyebrow without looking up from the shogi board. "Did you hear a monkey, Okita?"  
  
"Hmmmm?" Okita, playing along, tilted his ear upwards. "A monkey, you say?"  
  
"Oi, oi! I'm not a monkey, I'm a little girl. It's -me-, Mimi-chan!"  
  
"Damnable zookeepers must have fallen asleep on the job again."  
  
Miyuki put her hands on her hips and pouted. But, seeing that neither man was going to pay her the slightest bit of attention, she changed her tactic and decided to crawl up onto the engawa. She sat down next to her grandfather and placed her head in his lap, blinking up at him until he looked down.  
  
"Aha. Mimi-saru. There's the monkey in question."  
  
"Hello grandpa, hello Okita-san," Miyuiki smiled grandly, showing off her lost tooth. "Look!"  
  
"Lost a tooth, did you?" Saitou leaned forward, moving one of the tiles with an evil glare at Okita. When he leaned back, he looked down at his granddaughter again and chuckled. "Did you get in a fight?"  
  
"No. It just came out the normal way." Miyuki sat back up. She blinked several times in thought, "Did you ever lose a tooth in a fight, Grandpa?"  
  
"Aa. Once."  
  
"Did it hurt?"  
  
"Not as much as what I did to the other guy."  
  
Miyuki thought about this for a while and then looked at Okita. "Did you ever loose a tooth in a fight, Okita-san?"  
  
Okita laughed, making his move on the shogi board with excessively wicked glee. "No, Mimi-chan, though I lost one when I fell off the roof."  
  
"You fell off the roof, Okita-san? Why?"  
  
"Because he's an idiot," Saitou replied without missing a beat. "Now go inside and pester your grandmother. Maybe she'll give you a banana."  
  
Miyuki stood up and toddled into the house, scowling a little monkey scowl back at her grandpa and Okita before leaving. Once inside, Miyuki took a deep breath, smelling her grandparent's house. It always smelled good in here. Yes. Grandma's house smelled much better than her own stinky home which smelled like sweat half the time because of all the students running around.  
  
Back on the porch, Okita said quietly, "You shouldn't let her crawl around on you like that...in your condition."  
  
"Shut up, Okita. If you want someone to nag, go get married," Saitou replied.   
  
"You're not twenty anymore, old wolf."  
  
"No? But I did beat a potential thief senseless at the museum last week. And -he- was twenty." Saitou made another move on the shogi board. He'd been working at the Tokyo Education Museum as a security guard for some years now, having finally given up his teaching position at the University to Narajirou Fujiko.  
  
Miyuki found her grandmother no place else but the kitchen. Miyuki liked a lot of people, Mama and Papa, and -sometimes- her big brother, and uncles Tatsuo and Tsutomu and Eiji and Grandpa Fujita...but she couldn't say she liked anyone quite so much as her grandma. Her grandma loved to show her everything fun, how to cook, and how to sew, how to do up your hair like fine ladies, how to make flower arrangements, and how to pick the best vegetables at the market.  
  
Her grandma even showed her how to whistle.  
  
Her Mama said that Grandma Tokio didn't have any daughters, and she had only -one- granddaughter. That was Miyuki. So Mimi-chan knew she was pretty special to her grandma, too.  
  
"Grandma! Grandma!"  
  
"Oh, Mimi-chan, look at you, aren't you getting big?" Tokio leaned down to look at her granddaughter, only to have the little girl whisper something in her ear.  
  
"You lost a tooth? My goodness. Well, we should celebrate with some raisin jam, ne? But, shh, don't say anything or Okita-san will come in here and gobble it all up." Tokio tapped the little girl on the nose and set about finding her a treat. So, perhaps she did spoil Miyuki a bit. It was a grandmother's right to do so if she pleased. Tokio handed a little rice cake smeared with jam to Miyuki. "How is your Mama doing?"  
  
"She's -huge-!" Miyuki declared, outstretching her arms and puffing up her cheeks to demonstrate. "My new baby brother or sister is going to be as big as a whale."  
  
"So ka? Well, I suppose we'll have to make some food for you to take to her before you go home."  
  
Mimi-chan nodded, her mouth too full to make a reply. Grandma Tokio took Miyuki's little apron off the peg on the kitchen wall. Miyuki knew that this meant they were going to cook, and cooking was always quite fun with grandma. The pair bustled around the kitchen together, making great bowls and pots of this or that. Miyuki told her grandma all about school and her Papa's dojo, and about how stupid her brother could sometimes be. Yes. Being with grandma was the best thing in the whole world.  
  
"Grandma?"  
  
"Yes, Mimi-chan?"  
  
"I thought I might want to be a policeman like Uncle Tsutomu, or a great kenjutsu teacher like Papa. But now, now I think I want to be just like you when I grow up."  
  
Tokio smiled as her granddaughter hugged her waist. "That's just fine, Mimi-chan. You be whatever you want to be. In this age, girls are going to be able to be so much more than when I was little. You just put your mind to it, and never give up, alright?"  
  
"Okay!!!"  
  
Tokio felt a sudden wave of sadness wash over her. There were so many possibilities for Miyuki. She lived in a world made safe, a world without slavery, and where crime and rampant prostitution were in decline. It was a civilized world now, one where man had learned to fly, where science made new discoveries each day in every field. Sure, there were still problems in the world...but little Miyuki could walk the streets, her head held high, proud to be who she was. She'd be a fine woman, Tokio knew, and probably do and see things Tokio could never even begin to imagine.  
  
Miyuki lived in a wonderful world...a world that her grandfather and grandmother had helped to make.  
  
Tokio closed her eyes as she heard the pounding footsteps approach the kitchen.  
  
No. Not yet.  
  
"Mother! Oh, Kami-sama...Mother..." Tatsuo slid the shoji of the kitchen open with a snap. He stood there, panting, strangely out of breath for how short a distance he would have had to run.   
  
Tokio opened her eyes, looking up from her cooking as she placed her paring knife aside.  
  
"It's..."  
  
She had hoped the family could have had a few more meals together.  
  
"Father..."  
  
Just one, at least. One more meal before saying goodbye.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tokio sat in the corner of her room, her sleeping granddaughter curled in her lap. After they had brought Hajime, who still insisted he could 'walk his goddamn self', to the room, Tsuyoshi had gone to fetch everyone else. The house was crowded, overflowing with the dark whispers of family and friends. The sounds of feet and hushed voices pounded into her mind, intruding upon her thoughts, keeping her from thinking of much of anything.  
  
Hajime looked...like Hajime, except his skin seemed a bit more grey, his commanding voice just a smidgen less cutting. He lay propped up on the futon, asking occasionally for a cigarette, and being firmly denied by anyone in the room.   
  
As night fell, only a single lamp lit their bedroom on Taito street. Someone had suggested incense, but Hajime had called them a moron and shouted them out of the room.  
  
One by one, people came to say their goodbyes. Or rather, Saitou -sent- for them. He had a few choice last words, a piece of his mind, to give to people before he would consent to rest.  
  
He told Naoya that she was a rat-girl, through and through. Nonetheless, she'd done far better for herself than he'd ever expected. She was the daughter, he said, that he never wanted, and just couldn't seem to get rid of.  
  
He told Chou to cut his goddamn hair. And he told the man from Kansai that he hadn't always been a horrible employee. Just usually.  
  
To his sons, Saitou gave practical advice. Among other things, he said, "Never hit a woman. Never drink to excess. And practice your kata, because you'll never know when your country will need you."  
  
Tokio wasn't in the room when Saitou spoke to Eiji, but noted that the gentle gardener had a strange look on his face when he left.   
  
What he said to Jikiri was also a mystery, which was whispered in her ear. Tokio caught only two words. "Your father."  
  
And then, sometime after midnight, Saitou sent for Okita. The short man entered, his face red and puffy from crying. Okita knelt beside the futon, his hands folded in his lap, looking down at his dying friend with tremendous sadness welling from his eyes.  
  
"Well, Okita..."  
  
"Yes, Saitou-kun?"  
  
Saitou's eyes darted towards the corner where Tokio had been sitting all evening. He was quiet for quite some time, letting seconds pass into minutes before his gaze returned to his friend. "To the very end, Okita, I will live to the very end without a single drop of guilt, dishonor, or regret."  
  
"I know, my friend, I know. I am so glad to have known a man like you."  
  
"Aa, Okita. As much as it pains me to say it, I feel the same way." Saitou winced, not from the admission, but from the pain laying havoc to his gut. Well. It didn't feel quite as bad as being shot in the leg, but this one wasn't going to heal with a bandage and some stitches. And neither of that injury or this ailment were going to hurt as much as the one person left, the one person still waiting to be called to his side. "Okita. Bring Tokio."  
  
Okita stood and walked to the corner of the room where Tokio lay in a half-zombie state of physical and emotional exhaustion. He helped her put the sleeping Miyuki aside and stand.  
  
Together, they made their way to the side of the futon. Tokio knelt near her husband's chest, and Okita beside her. Unsure of what to say, Tokio slipped her left hand into her husband's, and used her right to brush back the sweat-slicked hair at his forehead. He watched her evenly, his eyes still as clear and keen as the first day they met, though now they were surrounded with cutting lines from age.  
  
"Tokio..."  
  
"Yes Hajime?"  
  
"No crying. It is forbidden in this house."  
  
Tokio nodded, trying her hardest to hold back her tears. She bent her head down, pressing her cheek to her husband's. She found his ear, and whispered, "You weren't supposed to die before me, Hajime. I don't know...I don't know if I can take you leaving me...for good..."  
  
Tokio found her chin being pried away from his cheek. Saitou gnashed his teeth at the pain of moving, his nostrils flaring as he held his wife's face with a grip that never faltered. "I know what you are thinking, Tokio. Don't you dare even consider it."  
  
"I...Hajime...I don't want to say...goodbye..."  
  
"No. We've never said that, have we?" With what remained of his strength, he pulled her close, kissing her softly, gently, finding her lips as delightful and giving as ever they had been. He felt Tokio sigh, losing herself in their last moments together. She became, just for a moment, not a woman losing her husband, but a woman kissing her beloved. It felt like an instant, and at the same time, like an eternity.  
  
"Tokio..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He closed his eyes, his body becoming strangely still. "I will return."  
  
"Yes, Hajime. I know." Tokio watched as her husband's breathing disappeared into nothingness. "I will be waiting."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Miyuki woke up in the middle of the night. Or, at least, it seemed like it must be the middle of the night. The house was very, very quiet, and very dark. A lamp was burning in the room where she had been sleeping, and next to it, her grandma Tokio was sitting, some cloth draped over her lap.  
  
"Grandma..." Miyuki said sleepily, crawling across the tatami to lean her head against Tokio's knee. "Everyone was so sad today. Are you sad, too, grandma?"  
  
"A little, Mimi-chan, I am a little sad," Tokio replied quietly. She turned over her embroidery to pull her stitch through on the other side. Miyuki held up her fingers to touch the silky cloth. It was white, but it seemed to shimmer a million colors even in the dim lamplight. Her grandmother had embroidered grey and black snowflakes up the side, creating a beautiful winter scene with her needle and thread.  
  
"Pretty, grandma. What's it for?"  
  
"It is for a lady going on a very long journey, Mimi-chan. She has to be dressed very pretty, because the man she loves went on the journey before her. She wants to make sure he recognizes her when she gets there. And to make sure he forgives her, because he told her to stay and wait for him to return."  
  
"Oh." Miyuki's mouth formed the word, but she didn't seem to understand. It was very late, and she was very tired. She rubbed her eyes, trying to stay awake to watch her grandmother sew, but ended up yawning. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, taking sleepy snapshots of her grandmother as she fought off the world of dreams.  
  
Sometime later, Miyuki found herself being carried into the other room, and gently tucked into a soft futon. Her grandma smiled at her, kissed her on the cheek, and told her to go back to sleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Eiji found Tokio the next morning. She wore a white kimono, decorated in tiny snowflakes at the hem and sleeves, and a deep blue obi the color of midnight. Her face was pressed into the crook of her husband's neck, her hands holding his.   
  
Beside her was an empty basket. It had once contained candies so sweet...  
  
She never tasted the poison.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A great many people came to the funeral of Saitou Hajime and Saitou Tokio. Strange, they said, that a lone wolf and his quiet wife could have known so many people. It took place in early October, amidst a sudden cold snap that overtook Tokyo as if from nowhere.   
  
Among the people who came were:  
  
Sawageou Chou, and Naoya, along with their daughter Eiko.  
  
Narajirou Kozue, and his three daughters, Fujiko, Ichimi, and Ayami. Unfortunately, Narajirou Kume could not come, having died the previous year in a fire.  
  
Myojin Yahiko and his wife Tsubame, along with their children. Himura Kenji, too, came along with his wife and children.  
  
Takani Megumi came along, and told Okita that she had sent word of his friends' passing to Sagara Sanosuke.  
  
Fujita Tsutomu, his wife, and two sons.  
  
Fujita Tsuyoshi, his wife, daughter Miyuki, and son Jirou.  
  
Fujita Tatsuo arrived, but had to be taken away from the scene quickly due to being overcome with emotion.  
  
Harada Shikiko, having come back to Japan to pursue her studies, attended the funeral on the behalf of her father.  
  
Several remaining members, children, and grandchildren of certain members of the Shinsengumi were in attendance.  
  
Members of two ninja groups, the Oniwabanshuu, and the Hachinisasareru, were said to be in attendance. But, being ninjas, no one saw them or could substantiate the claim.  
  
Many of the faculty of the Tokyo Women's University, the Tokyo Educational Museum, and the Tokyo Police Department came to the funeral.  
  
A great number of market vendors, as well as long time customers of Snowflake Sweets also arrived.  
  
Okita Jikiri, Mishima Eiji, and Okita Souji arrived together. Eiji and Souji took turns giving the eulogy, with Okita reading a few bits of poetry, and Eiji relating fond memories of his adoptive parents.  
  
In the end, their ashes were interred in Tokyo Cemetery. The stones read:  
  
Saitou Hajime (Jan. 1, 1844 - Sep. 27, 1915) One sword, one ideal, one woman.  
  
Saitou 'Kitty' Tokio (Feb 12, 1857 - Sep. 27, 1915) One step behind the man she loved.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
One year and three months later. Tokyo.  
  
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.  
  
Okita had never particularly thought about the sound of snow underfoot. Imagine that. Seventy three years old, and he could still find new things to think about. Life never ceased to be interesting.   
  
Of course, there were new things in Japan every day now. Strange but wonderful things from the West. Every year new girls enrolled in the school. Jikiri never stopped trying to find new ways to sneak up on him. Naoya had a new recipe for him to try every time he visited.  
  
But, this new sound felt like poetry, light and crisp, echoing only mildly between the trees as his journey continued.   
  
The fact that his joints ached just a bit could no longer easily be slid aside. Old sword wounds he'd long since forgotten attempted to make themselves known. Jikiri couldn't sneak up on him, but age certainly had. It must have been only yesterday... 'Well, then, if I am going to think like this, I'll certainly have to end up admitting that I am old. And I shan't do that. No. Definitely not.'  
  
Grieving for his friends had been so hard. It was then that he had begun to realize that age had creeped up on him. It had been stalking him in the shadows like a hitokiri of old. Saitou-kun would have had some choice words about how a simple morning kata routine would leave him sweaty and ragged.   
  
But, then, Saitou-kun could always pick at a man's weakness until that man unraveled like a ball of yarn.   
  
And Tokio-san, if she saw him now, she probably would have worried. "You're not eating enough, Souji," she'd say with that enigmatic smile, "It distracts me to see you so frail."  
  
Ah. He missed them deeply. Sometimes, he even caught himself wondering how long it would be until he could see them again.   
  
They had such wonderful times. And some bad ones, too. But, of course, he regretted none of it. In the end, using his sword to make a safer Japan never pleased him even a fraction as much as using his heart to make so many good friends.  
  
Okita paused at the gate to the Tokyo City Cemetery and said a few words of prayer. He'd never been particularly religious, but if praying was to be done, he'd prefer not to do it in front of his friend's graves. Saitou-kun would think it silly, and Tokio would likely find it too sad.  
  
As Souji passed the bucket he was carrying from his right hand to his left, a sudden pain seized his chest. The bucket fell into the snow, thankfully upright. Okita put his hand to his mouth, leaning on the gate for support as he coughed.   
  
Three perfectly round spots of crimson blossomed in the snow.  
  
It had been like this for three days now. Ever since that night he...  
  
He'd gone outside to take a brief stroll around the campus. The day had been long and full, requiring too much paperwork and too many meetings. A quiet walk could calm the mind. He'd taken to the garden behind the greenhouse, appreciating how well the full moon bathed Eiji's plants in a peaceful glow. A sudden wind had brought him from his reverie to the realization that someone else was in the garden. Jikiri trying to sneak up on him again? No.   
  
And then he distinctly heard a very familiar voice say, "I can hold back the river of time for you only so long, Sou-chan. I'm sorry."  
  
Souji became dizzy after that, so much so that he gave in to the overwhelming urge to lay down on the stone path. He'd found himself looking at the sky, the sound of rushing water assaulting his ears like he'd just fallen into the deepest, most unnavigatable, rapids.   
  
And the sky...  
  
The sky...  
  
It was completely starless.  
  
Okita remained leaning against the cemetery gate until his fit of coughing had completely ended. He bent to retrieve the bucket before heading inside. Well, at least Saitou-kun was dead, and couldn't ask pesky questions about why Okita smelled of blood.  
  
He found their graves without much trouble, having been here many times before. Brushing away the snow which had accumulated on top of their stones, Okita smiled a bit. It wouldn't do to -not- smile. If he didn't smile, how would they be able to recognize him at all?  
  
"Saitou-kun, Tokio-san, how are you today, hm? I've brought a bit of soba with me, see? Well, you can't taste it, but I had a bit and I assure you, it isn't as good as yours. So you don't have to worry, Tokio-san."  
  
Okita used his toes to push some of the fallen snow out of the way, making a clean patch where he could sit. He bones creaked as he lowered himself to the ground. Souji pushed his hands inside the sleeves of his gi, hiding them from the advancing cold.   
  
"We all miss you very much, you know," Okita said quietly, "Life seems so much less thrilling without you two troublemakers constantly stirring things up. Yes, I mean you, too, Tokio-san. You could be quite naughty when you wanted, couldn't you?" Okita laughed, the soft lines around his large brown eyes crinkling with mirth. "But, I think everyone has done their best to live their lives in a way that would make you both proud."  
  
"Eiji is still Eiji. I can't believe what a fine man he has become. He loves Jikiri deeply, and tries to show her at every turn. One of these days, I know she'll give in to his advances. I hope it will be sooner rather than later. As for Jikiri, well, she's so busy now. In title, yes, I still run the school, but Jikiri is really the one who does all the work. She says that she wants to make sure that every girl realizes that they have great potential, and that there are so many possibilities for a young woman, if only they work hard. I think you gave her a good name, Saitou-kun. It fits her life."  
  
"Ah, and there is exciting news, as well. Naoya and Chou went to Europe last spring. I tell you, they wouldn't stop talking about it for months after they returned. Apparently, Naoya made quite a splash among the social scene there, and everyone wanted to meet the 'refined lady from Japan'. The recipes she brought back to inflict on all of us were quite...ahem...interesting." Souji giggled into his hand. "And they went to Paris, so that Chou could put Yumi-san's ashes into the Seine. Well, I don't think you'd recognize Chou now. His hair is very short due to a...hrm...an incident wrestling Naoya in the kitchen which apparently tumbled too close to the stove. They took him off active duty a while ago, though he protested vehemently, and he now works as a clerk in the armory."  
  
"Naoya is taking very good care of Snowflake Sweets. Well, Eiko does most of the work, now. The store's patented sakura mochi have become somewhat of a local favorite. The business is doing so well that Eiko is discussing plans to open another shop, possibly in Yokohama!"  
  
Souji stopped for a few moments and looked up at the sky. Even though they were dead, it was still hard to say the next part.   
  
"Tsutomu is doing well, and his family, also. Tsuyoshi's wife had her second daughter, and they named it Toki, after you, of course, Tokio-san. But..."  
  
In a way, it made him glad that his friends were gone. He wouldn't have been able to stand seeing their faces if they were alive.  
  
"I'm afraid Tatsuo... There was a fever that spread through the city in the fall. He...he didn't make it. But, his brothers were there with him when he went. We were all heartbroken, but Tsutomu most of all. He told me that he worried that you would both be disappointed that he couldn't protect his little brother. They didn't put his ashes here, because Tsutomu thought this place of death might not be appropriate for a young man who tried so hard to live. He's out by Snowflake and Midnight, which he would have liked, I think."  
  
The sob in Souji's throat irritated the already sore tissue there, causing a sudden bout of uncontrollable coughing. Okita bent forward, and his cheek pressed against a mound of snow as his body was overtaken by painful convulsions. "Kami-sama..." Souji whispered to his friends during a lull in the fit, "I sound like a dog, barking coughs like that, don't I?"  
  
Souji slowly tried to compose himself. The walk here must have been longer than he remembered, as he felt uncharacteristically tired for this time of day. His cheek remained in the snow. It felt soothing, especially with how strangely hot his face had become. Old eyes, still shining and rimmed with laugh lines, but suddenly weary, gazed at the gravestones of his friends.  
  
"You know, I don't think I can put into words how much I've enjoyed this life of mine. Such sweetness, and such beauty... Such an amazing adventure. Each day more magnificently delicious than the one before. But, as much as I marvel..."  
  
Another fit of coughing took hold of Souji. The small man outstretched his arm, catching a fist of snow which he squeezed in his hand until it became a hard rock of ice. His entire chest was pressed against the ground as blood leaked unchecked from the side of his mouth.  
  
"As much as I marvel at the wonders of this world, I doubt I've ever known anything as unexpectedly dear and precious as the friendship that you both gave to me."  
  
Souji's eyes closed as his chest exploded into a conflagration of pain. He could hear his own breathing, like a sharp whistle as he tried to suck in air that would not come between sputtering and progressively unproductive hacking. Darkness beyond darkness pulled at his mind, drawing him away from the agony of body and the sadness of spirit.   
  
"...Why, if I close my eyes right now, I can hear spring already..."  
  
'How nice it smells here, like cigarettes...and honey...'  
  
"...If you just close your eyes and listen, you can hear them. At first, they may seem indistinguishable from the cacophonous sound that composes the symphony of water's journey. There. Can you hear them?..."  
  
'Is it springtime already? Just a moment ago, I thought...it was winter..'  
  
Okita suddenly became aware of someone cooing his name. Over and over, like a warm breeze tickling his ear.  
  
"Souuuu-chan. Sooouuuuu-chan. My, oh, my, such a lazy one, at that."  
  
Opening his eyes, Okita found the world bathed in not the fierce brilliance of snow, but the gentle glow of sunlight. And, not six inches from his face was...his own face?  
  
But, not his current face. No, a younger version of himself, one shining with the pinnacle of youth and health. The lips on that face curved into a beatific smile, and its owner leaned back, clapping his hands with delight.  
  
"Yatta! Most excellent! Ahhh, what's that look now? I thought you'd be at least somewhat happy to see me."  
  
Souji blinked. "Ss...Seichii?"  
  
"Well, of course it's me, silly. Is there anyone else who looks exactly like you?" Seichii put his hands on his hips and took a step backwards, blowing air upwards into his bangs. "It took you so long to get here, Souji. I'm going to tell you all the bad jokes and horrible poems I made up while waiting as punishment..."  
  
It -was- Seichii, but not as Souji had hardly ever seen him. He was so...well...it was like he'd never been sick a day in his life. Seichii hopped from foot to foot, doing a bit of a jig of celebration as Souji slowly sat up.  
  
A low male voice muttered from behind Souji, "You'd think he'd at least know his own twin. Ahou."  
  
"Come now, Hajime. He's only been dead for a few minutes," a soft voice answered.  
  
"No excuse. It is terribly irresponsible to not have your wits about you at all times."  
  
Slowly, Souji turned his head, blinking into the sunlight as he attempted to make out the silhouettes. One tall one, angular and lean. And a shorter one, her arms entwined around the first, long white kimono flowing in the breeze as she rested her head on his chest. As the figures became clear, he found they looked just as they did when they, too, were young. Saitou rested his left hand on the hilt of his katana as he glanced from Tokio to Okita and back again.  
  
"Sa...Saitou-kun? Tokio...Tokio-san!"  
  
"Aa," Hajime said, one corner of his lips upturning to mar his sneer. Tokio, however, wore a quietly enduring smile as she waved. "Hello Souji. We've been waiting for you."  
  
"Waiting...for me?" Okita Souji had never looked so confused.  
  
"Hn. We'll explain on the way," Saitou said dismissively, turning himself and his wife away from the twins.  
  
"Hai, hai, Sou-chan." Seichii extended a hand to his brother to pull him up off the ground, "We have to get back before Katsu-san starts making fun of Kume-san again."  
  
"Katsu-san is here, too? And..."  
  
"Oh everyone, Souji. Tatsuo, and Nagakura-san, and all sorts of people from the Revolution days. Even Himura-san and his wife are here. So, we'd best go."  
  
Souji looked down at his hands. All of the wrinkles of age, the thick veins and swollen knuckles were gone. As he moved, he felt so light, the creaking bones and small aches of his advanced age having melted away to nothingness. As he peered at his brother, the patent Okita Souji smile once again returned to his face.  
  
"Where are we going, Sei-chan?"  
  
"Ah, to the ocean, of course."  
  
Souji scratched his head lightly and shrugged, resigning himself to be led by his very energetic brother. Wherever they were, everything seemed fine now. Seeing old friends would be nice. And maybe the others would come along someday, too.  
  
Hajime and Tokio watched as the two twins walked past, Seichii speaking quite animatedly to his older brother, and Souji laughing at just about every other sentence. Saitou raised one fine black eyebrow as his wife peered up at him.  
  
"Shall we go, too, Hajime?"  
  
"Aa," he replied as they began to walk, "Though, I do despise the sea."  
  
Tokio's silent laughter made her shoulders quake lightly. "As do I, Hajime, as do I."  
  
"Lets not stay here long, Kitty..."  
  
As they disappeared into the blur of the springtime sunlight, Tokio finished her husband's sentence, "This place irritates you. I know, Hajime, I know. But, next time..."  
  
"Aa, Kitty?"  
  
"Next time lets try to avoid cross-dressers."  
  
"Good choice."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Next Morning.  
  
The officer bowed his head reverently as he opened the gate for Okita Jikiri. Overnight the city of Tokyo had experienced quite a devastating freeze, and as Jikiri meandered through the cemetery, her breath left a trail of translucent fog marking the last few steps of her path. Bundling her hands tighter into her woolen muff, Jikiri bit the inside of her cheek.  
  
Eiji would be so upset. Jikiri took a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out her mouth slowly. But, at least once she told him, he'd tell the others. She couldn't bear to repeat such news more than once.  
  
She found him laying on his side, one of his arms under his head. His other arm, bent at the elbow, lay outstretched as if he'd wished to embrace the frozen earth. Okita's hakama had blown upwards during the night, revealing his left leg up to the knee.   
  
His skin. So blue and so fragile. His legs...so small. Was he really such a small man? To Jikiri, he'd always been massive. His extraordinary zeal for living made him larger than his little body could ever contain..  
  
His head, tucked between the two gravestones of his friends, lay in a pool of rust-colored blood. Okita's ice encrusted bangs obscured his eyes, but the mysterious smile on his lips let her know that at the end, at least, he'd been amused by some parting thought.  
  
Jikiri knelt down beside the body and ran her fingers lightly over frozen strands of hair. "Finally, this Jikiri sneaks up on you." The tear that hit Okita's face froze before it could roll down his cheek. "I just wish she could have told you that she was so glad you found her..."  
  
"...Father."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The last page fell from her remarkably tiny fingers, joining hundreds of its companions in the pile.   
  
She couldn't believe it. She just couldn't believe...  
  
Jikiri leaned forward, stifling her mouth with the inner flesh of her palm. She let the taste of her own hand capture her mind. Anything, anything to dull horrible feeling. Salty. Her hand was salty. Or, perhaps, the tears were salty.   
  
She had to focus on something besides this all-consuming feeling which she dared not attempt to name.  
  
He couldn't have done this...not just for...not just because...  
  
How many years had it taken him? How many nights by insufferably dim lamplight, scrawling out character after character? Where had he hidden it? Underneath the petunias? Inside the cabinet where he kept the seeds? How long? How long would one man wait to capture the heart of one woman?  
  
The first pages were so yellowed and crinkled from time. He'd started this long before...before they died.  
  
Jikiri felt like she'd been asleep for years. The mid-afternoon sun streamed into the office, making shadow-puppets of the objects on her desk.   
  
Her desk, which had once been Okita-san's desk.   
  
It was like she'd been asleep, and at the same time, like she'd never slept her entire life.   
  
Summoning her strength, Jikiri wiped her moist hand on the leg of her skirt and reached down to turn over the pile of papers.  
  
She had to look at it again. Just to be certain that what she'd read on the first page wasn't her imagination. Because she'd started reading this tale when she came into the office this morning and found it on her desk. And she hadn't stopped, not even for water, since that time. The only interruption had been her secretary banging on the locked door in a futile attempt to find out if Jikiri was inside the office.  
  
The pages fell back onto the desk with a thump. And, on the first one, written in impeccable kanji, were the same words she'd read this morning.  
  
"Hajime and Tokio"  
  
by Mishima Eiji  
  
Dedicated to Okita Jikiri:  
  
"You are the flame that fuels my fire when it is in danger of dying out."  
  
Jikiri brushed her fingers across the text. She could almost feel the words, shocking her fingertips like a heartbeat had been embedded within the paper.  
  
He wrote...  
  
He wrote the entire thing...just for her. Just for her eyes.  
  
The next thing Jikiri knew, her legs were carrying her away from the desk. The office doors burst open with a bang, causing the poor secretary in the antechamber such a fright that the stacks of school forms in her arms went flying into the air. Jikiri's legs paid no heed, she just kept going, racing down the stairway of the elaborately decorated western building, running through the flocks of girls clustered there.  
  
Girls and, remarkably, one red-headed teenaged boy, who was clutching the hand of a little girl holding a violin case.  
  
"Ken-ni, that's the headmistress..." The girl watched as Jikiri sped past, "Rather, it -was- the headmistress. Oh my. Such a hurry things are here."  
  
"Nevermind, Tsu-chan. Try not to get too excited. You know what the doctor says about that. Let's get to your audition, hm?"  
  
Jikiri disappeared down the western corridor, thankfully mostly deserted since it was lunchtime. Underneath her feet, the marble floor stretched on for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she found the back door, and emerged into blinding daylight.  
  
The ex-ninja had never lost her nimble lightness, and traveled over the field at an impossible speed. The greenhouse. It had never seemed so far away before. Kami-sama, couldn't Okita-san have built it closer to the main building?  
  
Finally, she reached the doors of her destination. Her hands pulled them open so forcibly that one of the small glass windows shattered.  
  
"Eiji! Eiji!!!!"  
  
No human answered. Several of the plants within swayed with the addition of the outdoor air, perhaps whispering a reply in the language of flora . Jikiri ran down the main aisle, looking right and left to see if Eiji had been bent over, tending something on a lower shelf. No. Nothing. Eiji...wasn't here.  
  
Though her panic rose, her pace slowed. Where else could he be? He must have known that she would come...after reading...then why...  
  
Jikiri pulled open the back door, feeling suddenly lost. Beyond the greenhouse sat a small outdoor garden tended by the upperclassmen, a favorite place for the girls to gather and trade western magazines and local gossip, due to the shaded privacy of the large bushes and trees.   
  
And on one of the stone benches, quietly reading a stack of papers, was Narajirou Fujiko, the kendo teacher.  
  
"He went that way..." Fujiko said, without ever looking up from her reading. She motioned laconically to the west, and turned a page.  
  
"Eh? Oh...ano...um..."  
  
"My father was -not- this clumsy," Fujiko said with a scowl, "Nor was my mother this...insane."  
  
"You...have the book, too?"  
  
"Nay, just parts of the draft. I forced him to give it to me when he asked me to wait here all day for you to show up."  
  
"Ah." Jikiri just didn't know what to say to that. Fujiko had been sitting here all day? Then Eiji...  
  
"Are you going to go, or what? I told you, already, he's that way."  
  
"Arigato, Fujiko-san." With that, Jikiri started down the path. Strange. She'd been all over the school grounds, but she certainly didn't remember this particular section of the gardens. The path had been painstakingly filled in with dark colored stones that glittered almost obsidian in the sunlight, and high bushes trimmed with the most delightful smelling honeysuckle lined the sides.   
  
The path came to a curve, and Jikiri heard the sound of water just beyond. As she rounded the corner, she came face to face with a most remarkable sight: a stone wall, lined with moss, which perpetually leaked drops of water over jagged rocks into a pool below. But, even more amazing was that into the rock had been cut a long, perfect rectangle, capped with glass. It allowed the light to shine into the grove from the other side of the wall, illuminating the two objects imprisoned in the waterfall:  
  
A sword, around which had been wrapped a delicate silk scarf.  
  
"Did you like it?"  
  
Jikiri's face followed the voice. She found Eiji standing against one of the bushes, his clippers in hand, as if he couldn't resist touching up the scene while waiting.  
  
"Eiji...I..."  
  
"Yes. I like it better when you refer to yourself in first person." Eiji smiled and put his clippers into the front pocket of his gardening smock.   
  
"It is so lovely, Eiji, so lovely that it terrifies me." Jikiri could feel the tears on her cheeks, but didn't know what else to do. She was trapped. The magnitude by which someone could love a woman known once as Nakenashi completely destroyed everything she understood to be true about the world, and especially about men. She felt her knees give out. She wanted to faint. Or to die. Anything to stop feeling so incredibly wanted. So wanted and cherished, she felt certain that it must be unnatural.  
  
And then she felt Eiji's arms wrap around her shoulders. She'd hugged Okita-san a few times, but nothing felt like this, so safe and right and...  
  
"Come now, Jikiri, I hate it when you cry. It certainly isn't what I had in mind."  
  
Jikiri laughed through her sobs, recalling the story she had just read. A man hates to see the woman he loves cry. And, he'll go to the ends of the earth to prevent it. Jikiri sniffled a bit more and pulled her head off of Eiji's chest, peering at the damp likeness of her face that had imprinted onto his clothing.  
  
"I've..."  
  
"If I could bottle your tears, I would use them to grow the most fantastic of all orchids ever known."  
  
Eiji smelled so earthy, not dirty, but more like a field of spring grasses after the rain. How could someone smell so nice? Jikiri could resist pressing her face into his neck, just to make certain she hadn't been mistaken. Yes. He smelled just as she had imagined.  
  
"You always say such wonderful things to me, Eiji. And I have been nothing but unkind to you. I just don't understand. Why? Why? How can you be this way? Don't you know what horrible things I have done in my life? Don't you understand that I don't deserve to be treated this way?"  
  
Eiji slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face. He had such massive hands, and yet, he was so gentle. Just like he was with all his flowers. He treated everything the same, with overwhelming care and enduring tenderness.  
  
"I saw Fujita-san once. It was the night after Tsutomu-chan was born. Everyone else had passed out from drinking, or gone home already. I had been asleep, too, but I'd eaten too much and my stomach kept waking me up. Fujita-san, he was standing in a doorway, just watching Auntie Tokio sleep. He must have stood there for hours, just watching her. I don't ever think I've seen such an expression on that man's face. Like he was lost, and just didn't know what to do with himself. It seemed as if he thought that if he looked away from her, just for one second, she'd disappear, and he'd become someone else. Of course, I don't know what really went through his mind. All I do know is that, in the dead of night, when the whole world had reached an equilibrium of silence and stillness, he said 'I love you, Tokio.'"  
  
Eiji took a deep breath and gathered Jikiri in his arms. A smile somehow both happy and sad caught his lips and reflected in his eyes as he stood. "I don't know if she ever understood how completely she captured that man's heart. I don't think anyone ever understood. What they saw was a cold man, slavishly dedicated to his idealism, someone calculated and cruel. But, in truth, he was as human as anyone. He loved, and he wanted to be loved in return for who he was, and for everything which he stood. Before he died, he called me into his room. He asked me if I still had my brother's sword. I said that I did. And then he said something that I will never forget. "I want you to have my katana, Eiji. And when you find a woman, you take out that katana and look at it. Think of every single way you could hurt that yourself with that blade. Every slice of your skin that you could rip, every organ that you could puncture, every stinging line of blood that would fall. Then, when you put the katana away, you look at the woman you have chosen and imagine if she left you. If the second image disturbs you more than the first, you've found the right woman."  
  
Eiji sat down Jikiri down on the stone ledge beside the pool, his arm still draped around her tiny frame. "I say these things to you, Jikiri, because you are the right woman. And because, I don't want you to ever question how dearly I adore you."  
  
Jikiri and Eiji sat together on the ledge for a long time, watching as the sun traveled through the sky, heading towards the horizon, seeking companionship with the low moon. The waterfall behind them trickled gently, playing a symphony to accompany the river of time. Jikiri felt so tired, and though she nodded off once or twice, every time she awoke Eiji was still there, running his fingers through her hair.  
  
"It was a good story, Eiji. I liked it very much. Though, you did fudge some of the details just a bit, ne?"  
  
"A few, perhaps."  
  
"Though, I liked that you said Okita-san was my father. That was very nice. I think he would have approved."  
  
"Mm? Oh yes!" Eiji lifted Jikiri up a bit and searched behind a nearby rock, producing a small lidded pot. He reached up and gently touched Jikiri's chin, angling her gaze towards the pool at their backs. "I wouldn't forget about Okita-san."  
  
Then she saw the three large koi swimming in the pond: A black one, fiercely darting here and there, a snow colored one that moved silently through the water, and a much smaller orange one that seemed to exist without a care in the world.  
  
"Well, Jikiri, shall we feed the fish?"  
  
"Yes, Eiji. I think I'd like that very much."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
THE END!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Is this the END? Well, actually, I have an epilogue planned. I may end up not posting it, though. We'll see.   
  
***Author Notes:  
  
Well, that took just about forever to write. Please send all death threats to jikiri@ninjaforhire.com. But, all other mail you can send to me.  
  
Speaking of mail, I've been so busy trying to finish this, I haven't responded to some email which has been sent. I'm going to have minor surgery this afternoon, but...after that...I should be answering email as soon as I am well enough to sit at my computer again.  
  
I looked back over some of the earlier chapters, and I can't wait to go -edit- them. Yikes. A few months will really open your eyes to past mistakes.  
  
I know a lot of people didn't want this story to end on a "downer", but I felt that this was the way it had to be. The epilogue, if I get around to it, will be more upbeat.  
  
Well, I have enjoyed this journey with you, good reader. I hope it has been pleasant for you as well. Thank you so much for sticking with this story, as long an cumbersome as it is. And thank you to everyone who has written me, helped me through criticism and reviews, and sent in encouragement and artwork.  
  
*** Fan Art Contest:  
  
I've recieve several more entries over the past two weeks, and boy are they GREAT! You can see them on the "Fanfiction Extras" page off my website, which is linked in my profile. Or you can turn your browser to angrybee.vze.com.  
  
The art contest is STILL ONGOING, and will continue until the appendix is posted (which is where I will announce the winners).   
  
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has enter, and everyone who will send entries. They have really been too cool for words. But, I don't have to gush about them. Take a look for yourself!  
  
*** Historical and Chronicle Notes:  
  
Saitou Hajime died in 1915 at age 72 of stomach ulcers. These were probably from excessive drinking, though he doesn't drink quite so much in this story, so we'll say it was from stress, cigarettes, and old age.   
  
He quit the police force in 1891 (though in this story it was 1893 to align with the events of Seisouhen). I approximated the date of Seisouhen based on Kenji's age. I'm not certain if the year was actually said in the movie.  
  
After working for the police, he went to work at the Tokyo Higher Normal School for Women as a secretary, though in our story, he's a kendo instructor. After that, he worked as a senior citizen at the Tokyo Educational Museum.  
  
Tokio, I believe, outlived her husband by some years, though I can not substantiate this information, nor can I find any references to how she actually died.  
  
From the picture I have seen of Tsutomu and Tokio, it looks like Tsutomu was in some sort of military force, due to his uniform. I put him in the police department, following in his father's footsteps.  
  
Kaoru and Kenshin die as depicted in Seisouhen. No, I'm not a huge fan of Seisouhen, but I included it nonetheless.  
  
***Character Notes:  
  
I have long character profiles which I will be including in the appendix, as well as the meaning of some names and other fun stuff, so I will keep these comments short.  
  
Mysterious Two Characters Talking in the School: The girl with the violin and "Ken-ni" are references to my story "Hot and Cold", which takes place around 1920. Ken-ni is Kenshin, grandson of Himura Kenshin, and Tsu-chan is Tsubame, his sister. Sorry, I couldn't help but stick them in there.  
  
Okita Souji: I had a few extra paragraphs about some of Souji's thoughts on various things which got cut for the flow. I actually wrote his death scene first, and may go back and edit it some, since it seems a bit confusing.  
  
Okita Jikiri: She may not seem like "herself" in the last scene, but you have to remember that she's past reaching 50 years old at this point. Eiji waited a -long- time for her. Very long.  
  
Saitou Tokio: Do you think committing suicide to follow her husband to the grave is too much? Well, perhaps. I think it fits her, though. From the very beginning of the story, she's obsessed with suicide, with dying. She eventually finds a reason to live, and that reason is her husband. Why continue without him?  
  
Saitou Hajime: I think one of my favorite scenes of the whole story is the first one here, where he catches the kids trying to dig up the dead cat. Sure, he's changed a lot through the story, but hopefully in a believable and still-Saitoulike way.   
  
*** Glossary:  
  
Un: Rather like "Aa", meaning yeah or yup, I believe.  
  
Chitose-ame: "Thousand year" hard candy. It is most sought after during a certain fall festival.   
  
Unagi: Eel.  
  
Miyuki: Name means "deep snow".  
  
Saru: Monkey  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Well, wow. I'm always so amazed at the reviews you send. I'm still a bit drugged up from surgery, so forgive me if my comments are less than lucid. This has been an amazing adventure for me, and I'm so glad that others have come along for the trip. I don't currently have plans for another -really- long fanfic like this, though I will be working on several of my other (shorter) stories. I'm also planning on getting started on working on a book, and I will be taking the lessons I have learned here and applying them to that. Anyway, I digress. Thank you so much for your encouragement as well as your criticism and eye for detail.   
  
So, super-duper end-of-our-story thanks to all reviewers. I wish I could re-list everyone by name, but it would take a little long. So, I will just stick with tradition and reply to those who reviewed since last time.  
  
hoobla: Sorry it took so long! :D  
  
BubblyBoo: I'm glad you liked the ninjas. I currently have two book ideas, one which revolves around ninjas, so that will be fun. The research for the story was all done on the internet and with books and movies I have rented. I will post more about that in the appendix. Thanks again for reviewing.   
  
Charmed-Anime: Recently, I had a dream that Okita was an astronaut and trying to convince me to go to Mars to help the re-formed Shinsengumi fight aliens. Strange stuff! Anyway, who knows what she whispered. Probably something lewd! Originally (in my timeline), that scene was supposed to happen before they got married, and it was where she was supposed to say yes.  
  
Shadow Knight5: Chuckle. Yup. A nod to Princess Bride. It just slipped in there. Chuckle. Oh well.  
  
jbramx2: I liked that line, too! I should try to use Chou's policy more in my life, myself. Chuckle. Tokio is very pessimistic. I originally had a few thoughts along the lines of "What if Saitou's wife wasn't a swordswoman or a ninja or a housewife...but a creepy goth chick?" I guess that thought helped color her personality some. You still have time to enter the contest, so please do! And I would love to see the other pictures, even if you don't want to enter them. I don't know...Yahiko might need a crushed windpipe.....sometimes. *Strangles Yahiko when he's being a jerk*   
  
bobo3: Ninja girl meets farmer boy. Chuckle, yup, that's about right. They're like some freaky episode of the Beverly Hillbillies or Green Acres or something. I've never seen the dubbed episodes. Well, I saw one of the Jin-ei episodes once on Cartoon Network. I was so happy it was in English, but creeped out by Kenshin's very "male" voice.  
  
^_^: Hahaha. Okita should have just followed the trail of cigarette butts all the way to Hokkaido, right?  
  
badgerturtle: Hahahaha. Full of it, eh? I don't know if I could make this story any more R rated than it is. Though, someone did tell me that they are working on an adultish side story of Saitou and Okita for posting on adultfanfictiondotnet. That will be...interesting.  
  
Wolfgirl13: I don't usually get this far in my stories either. I think I wrote most of this while asleep, because I just can't freakin' believe how ridiculously long it is.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: Ah. Anji ended up staying in Blue Cove with Mei. It's in the chapter, but it is a very short blurb, so it is easy to miss. Well, I hope you like this newest chapter. :D Thanks again for all yoru reviews!  
  
wazup: I'm actually working on another story right now called "Sundial". It isn't as long as this one, and it deals with Aoshi rather than Saitou. But, it has humor in it, as well as angst, so take a look if you enjoy that sort of thing. :D  
  
Misao Mei Mei: Hey! There you are. :D There are a couple new entries now, which are on my webpage. I'm not doing any side stories, myself, but several people have asked to do some...with ratings from PG to X. If anyone does write some, I will list their names in the appendix. :D   
  
Jade Goddess: No reunion, but...well...there is sake! Chuckle.   
  
Animyth: Well, I hope you aren't -too- sad. :D I think you are probably very sophisticated, I just left out a few details in the last two chapters that would have clarified a few things. Well, I did kill off the main characters. I hope you aren't too mad. I'm not sure how long the story is. But, most chapters are around 20-25 Word pages (I don't write them in word, but in a text editor), so...22 Chapters times 20 is 440. I think my math has to be -off- on that, because that is just -way- long. As always, thanks for all your reviews!  
  
Cherry Delight: Chuckle. Superspicious, eh? My spell checker certainly didn't like that one. Grin. You notice that Saitou -never- hurts Okita, even though he threatens to do it all the time? But, Okita gets to get his thwocks in -three- times (once with his sword and twice with his fists). Poor Saitou. His best friend is always beating him up. Anyway, in the end, Eiko didn't get an animal name (though her mother calls her imp), nor did Fujiko. I might have to correct all that in the edits. Well, thanks for all your reviews. :D :D They always bring happy shiny nougaty goodness to my brainZ.  
  
Crystal Renee: MUAHAHAAHA. You did it! Now I have to go read the incredibly long fic I just noticed written by author "Crystal Renee" called "Coming of the Dawn". I like to finish reading stories all in one sitting, so I will have to eke out the time to do so. Yummy goodness. Hooray. Anyway, thanks so much for reading this monstrosity and blessing it with so many reviews. :D :D (Chapter 18: I guess he did sort of use reverse psychology on her, didn't he? I didn't think of it that way.)(Chapter 17: I was going to do "The difference between Okita and Okina, but that one sort of fell flat.)  
  
Kenta Divina: You know, I just keep coming back to sake, crossdressers, ninjas and cats. If someone were a psychologist, they could probably interpret something about me with that. As always, thanks so much for your review. :D :D  
  
ExternalDarkness: Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Female Sesshoumaru: Hehehehe. Just a -little- drunk, really. Well, thanks for reading!!! I hope to read more from you very soon!  
  
Wolf Of Mibu: Chuckle! OK. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Tenniyo: What does "momiji" mean? I've seen momiji trees, and they are very -red-, so I am guessing "red"? I actually studied a bit on Buddhism before starting this story, as my personal ethics align well with that ideology. :D Yes. Okita is very GLOMPABLE. Now I just need an Okita action figure to go with my Saitou action figure...and all will be well.  
  
Catnip: Well, so far from the reviews for this chapter, I've had several votes for an epilogue, and several votes for no epilogue. I have it already half written, but I have to go back and edit it heavily because I hadn't added Jikiri to the story when I started writing it, so she's missing. I'm glad you have enjoyed the story so much. I guess the characters just seized my mind, and in the end, mostly wrote themselves, which is good. I wish I could read Japanese, because there are apparently a couple good books on both Saitou and the Shinsengumi in general which have not been translated to English. Well, maybe someday!  
  
tinnitus: Taku Iwazaki did most of the music for the OVAs and OAVs. I really think they wouldn't be the same without the compelling music. I must have listened to the soundtracks from these about 1000 times while writing this story. My favorite is Taku Iwazaki's "Eclipse", which is the song played when Kenshin finally returns to Kaoru in Seisouhen. It moves me every time.  
  
Lasaire: Well, no ladies for Okita besides Jikiri. I just really couldn't think of a love interest which would fit him. Oh, and thanks for your information on the uniforms. I'll have to edit that a bit so that it is more appropriate to the times. And, it explains why Misao was dressed so bizarrely in Kenshin Kaden!  
  
kakashi-fan: Hehehehe. Did you like the interaction between Saitou and his sons in this chapter? Man. I would -not- want that guy as my dad! Well, thanks for reviewing!  
  
IceRain: I hope a DVD of the Shinsengumi Drama will be for sale eventually. I've heard all sorts of great things about it already. And he LICKED his sword? HOW COOL IS THAT? *die*  
  
AiteanE: Chuckle. MUTOTSU! That should be Tsutomu's secret move, eh? Though, I can't for the life of me think of what it would be like. You know, I've given some thought to Saitou's Hair (?!?!!?), and I wonder...did Watsuki do it on purpose to give him a "caged" look. You know, like a -caged- wolf? Ponder ponder. I guess Jikiri is a bit Aoshi-ish. Ninja. Kodachis. Hardly ever smiling. Though, picturing her in a white-and-yellow trenchcoat is a lot like picturing Kenshin in hiko's mantle, ne?   
  
Shimizu Hitomi: Heheheheeh. Thanks for reviewing!!!!  
  
LSR-7: I never thought about Seisouhen that way, but I think you are right. The part I liked least about Seisouhen is when Kenshin -allowed- Kaoru to contract his disease. No, I do not think that would happen in a zillion years.   
  
stovetop00: Hahaha. Glad you liked Kamatari's mispronounciation. :D  
  
fujifunmum: Hm. Okita probably did tell him eventually. I was actually going to lengthen out the chapter with some scenes of what tragedies hit Okita and Saitou before they headed home, and then make them arrive back on Tanabata. Oh well, maybe I will clean it up in edit. Thanks again for your review!  
  
Veleda: Yeah. I had to give Anji a happy ending. That bizarre little flashback wasn't planned at all, but I like how it turned out. :D  
  
vegetachanlover: MY GOODNESS, it must have taken you a half hour to write that review! It is so LONG! Well, I tried to write Anji as this sort of quiet monk, very concerned for what he had done in the past, but not a fool looking to be trampled on, either. In a way, Anji reminds me a -lot- of Kenshin. He just wants to be a simple sort of guy and get on with his life. I might have to write a story now with the major RK characters all being forced to babysit. Shishio-sama, Shishio-sama, I'm hungrrrrrry, lets play! Anyway, Harada Sanosuke was the captain of the 10th troop of Shinsengumi. He's actually in an earlier flashback, briefly, when OKita and Saitou discover Shishio is the new assassin in town. I think one reason that Okita and Jikiri work so well together is because Okita has the innocence that Jikiri missed out on. Being with him is definitely like being given a second chance at childhood, even when she is older. Anyway, Sundial will be the next story I work on finishing. There's a plot breakdown that I am working on fixing which...actually...has to do with the sundial itself. But I digress. Thanks again for reviewing!  
  
lone_wolf_236: Well, I hope I didn't delve -too- much into the "S-event" for your tastes. In the manga, it says that Saitou actually transferred to another district, and the Himuras never see him again. In this story, he and Tokio just end up going in a different direction and not associating much with the Kenshingumi in later life. I've gotten -two- really cute fanart drawings of Jikiri so far. Well, one isn't so much -cute- as it is frightening. Thanks for saying all those words...even if you are running out of them. :D  
  
Kaia Harker: You skipped class? OH NO!!! Wow. Eight hours, hm? That's longer than it took me to read the 3rd Harry Potter book. Which is not to say that you are a slow reader, but that I need to remember not to put ever -damn- thing into the stories I write. So much babble and babble and babble. Anyway, I hope you do enter the FanArt contest. I look forward to your entry!!!!  
  
darktenshi: Well, no actual reunion scene, but I hope you like the last chapter, nonetheless. :D Well, I wish I had a friend like Okita who would come find me in the middle of nowhere and slap me silly when I am being an idiot. Teehee.  
  
The Narrator: Pookie! Hahahaha. I'm inferring that this means "girlfriend"? Yeah, I don't even think -Tokio- could get away with punching Saitou -hard- twice. Not that she could probably do it to any degree of success, but only Okita... Those monks are so damn -clever- with their insight, eh? I'm surprised that chapter didn't have more "Damn monks" being muttered by Saitou. Sapporo beer, eh? I will have to try that sometime! 


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